


TWC 1: My Kingdom For a DoublePlait Bolt!

by Zebeckras



Series: The Webfoot Chronicles [1]
Category: DarkWing Duck - Fandom
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Humor, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zebeckras/pseuds/Zebeckras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A double-plait bolt ends up being a major player in a caper involving Megavolt, Darkwing Duck, and a quiet hardware store clerk named Beth Webfoot.  First in the Webfoot Chronicles series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I, part 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Introduction: Hello readers. A quick backstory: this fic was originally written in 1994, but as far back as 2000, I knew I wanted desperately to rewrite it. There were things about it that bothered me a lot - not the least of which was the juvenile writing style - but also plot things, pacing, characterizations, etc. So I started it anew a few years ago and I'm now following up with rewrites of most of my other stories. Since this is the case the continuity might not match up across all my fics just yet, but if I can complete the rewrite project, all will be well. Hope you enjoy anyway!_

**Darkwing Duck: The Webfoot Chronicles  
My Kingdom For a Double-Plait Bolt!**

by Zebeckras

* * *

  


St. Canard. Night. The city slept, secure in its safety, uninterrupted in its tranquil silence.

Until, down a dark street, a glass shattered and the shrill throbbing of a bank alarm filled the air. A lone figure dashed along the pavement, breathing heavily, makeshift black mask clinging to his sweaty face as he paused at the street corner. A quick glance behind him to make sure that no one was following him, and then he tightened his fists around the sacks of stolen bank cash and took off again, sprinting to the left.

He'd gotten away with it! He nearly laughed in his elation. No more living on macaroni and cheese for ol' Joe... Nope, from now on it was steak and lobster all the way! And there was no sign of that vigilante hero, the one the papers mentioned every now and again- Duckwing Duck? Something like that. Whether it was because the vigilante stuck to bigger-time criminals, or because Joe was exceptionally smart for a first-time crook... or maybe just that Duckwing was less of a threat than the word on the street made him seem... Well, either way, Joe was doing fine.

The blue smoke took him a little by surprise. After all, manholes emit steam (at least he hoped it was steam) in big cities all the time, but not usually blue smoke. And then there was the fact that there was no sign of a manhole nearby. He was just wondering if he should maybe change directions, when the voice started. It was thunderous, and it seemed to have no source.

 **"I AM THE TERROR THAT FLAPS IN THE NIGHT."**

A shadow began to be visible in the smoke- the figure of a duck, a cape draped over his shoulders, a broad-brimmed hat hiding his eyes in darkness.

Despite himself, Joe swallowed and slowed to a stop. His knees shook as the figure spoke again. "I am the shadow behind your nightmares! I... am _DARKWING DUCK!_ "

As the figure took a few steps out of the last of the smoke, Joe found his ability to move, and took off running the way he'd come. Panting, he thought frantically of the area - he'd researched it thoroughly while planning the break-in. Two streets down and then a left - over the fence - he'd be reaching a sewer in a couple more blocks. His heart was in his throat as he ran; it wasn't so much the vigilante himself as it was the tales of what happened after he captured people. There were stories that he just tied his captives up and left them in a heap on the steps of the police station, and some even said that he _stood_ on them while delivering them. Besides, this guy didn't show mercy! There was no bargaining with him, no excuses for a first-time offender! He'd go straight to jail!

He risked a look behind himself as he ran, and found the streets behind him empty. Good; his knowledge of the neighbourhood gave him a distinct advantage. Darting around a dim corner, he dared to slow down and catch his breath. Leaning against a wall and panting, he barely reacted when the shadow next to him spoke. "Feeling better?" it asked.

Joe nodded. "Kind of. I'll be- YAGH!" He jumped back as Darkwing smirked from beneath his hat, and hit something. Turning, he found himself eye to eye with a taller, red-haired duck clad in an aviation uniform. Joe found he was nearly frozen with fear. He edged along, his back to the wall, unable even to run as he feared what might happen if he made any sudden movements.

Darkwing pulled something from within the folds of his cape - a gun! Joe's semi-paralysis broke and he took off running again, pushing past the pilot duck. Darkwing squinted. "You can't get away! Suck gas, evildoer!" Unfortunately, as the trigger was squeezed, he heard an ominous -crack- and found that the knockout gas he'd intended for the fleeing criminal was now surrounding him and his sidekick.

Launchpad looked puzzled. "Uh, it wasn't supposed to do that, was it?"

"Cover your mouth!" Darkwing said, waving the gas away from his own bill. He looked at the crook running down the street, now almost out of sight. "I can still catch him. I know this city back to front, but we'll have to hurry! Come on, LP-" A thud interrupted the hero, and he looked down to find that his sidekick had succumbed to the gas and was lying prone and snoring on the pavement. "Great," he said, rolling his eyes.

Time for action. Darkwing took off running after the bank robber, pulling out a grappling hook as he went. Since the gas gun was pretty much useless now, his own toss would have to do. He threw the hook upward as hard as he could, smiling as it wound around the top of a fire escape on a nearby building. Without slowing, he jumped, letting the rope tighten and swing him. Then he started climbing.

The callous criminal was still running, and Darkwing could still see him from his vantage point on the rooftop. He looked like he was heading for South-East St. Canard. Darkwing hoped that course held, and set off on a rooftop shortcut.

* * *

Joe didn't dare to stop this time. That guy was relentless! If he stopped, he was caught for sure! His only choices were to try and get home- which would probably lead the vigilante straight to his house- or to just keep running, hope to lose him, and then double back. He opted for the latter, hoping his speed held out for a while yet.

Another five minutes went by before he was tripped.

He stumbled, fell, and rolled for several feet before coming to a dazed stop. "Ow," he said, too out of it to keep from saying it aloud. He blinked for a moment, then remembered himself and tried to scramble to his feet.

Just in front of his feet, however, were a pair of legs. Billowing around those legs was a long cape of the deepest purple.

Joe was out of luck.

Darkwing reached down and grabbed him by the neck of his shirt, then hauled him to his feet, slapping a set of handcuffs on him as smoothly as butter. "That's the trouble with Mondays," the vigilante said carelessly, looking his captive up and down with a certain amount of disdain. "The only criminals out and about are the small fry."

* * *

Launchpad did not look particularly alert, Darkwing noted. Even for Launchpad.

It wasn't his fault of course; he'd gotten a big lungful of knockout gas, and didn't have Darkwing's mastery of various breathing skills (in particular, the whole "holding your breath" part came in really handy). If Darkwing hadn't come back for him, dragging the little guy he'd captured, he'd probably have just spent the whole night sleeping on the curb there.

As it was, he was pretty unsteady, which meant it wasn't easy at all to get him to pose for this photograph for the Canardian Gazette. "No - no, don't _wave_ , Launchpad, we're trying to look dramatic here!"

"Sorry," said Launchpad, his voice low and sleepy.

Meanwhile, the photographer heaved a big sigh of frustration. "I have a deadline, y'know," he said, sounding bored.

"Look, I'm doing the best I can with what I have to work with, okay?" snapped Darkwing. "Give me five more minutes and you'll get a great picture, I promise!"

"Three more, and then I'm taking it and going."

Darkwing glared at him for a second before turning back to Launchpad. "Okay. LP? Anyone home?" He waved a hand in front of Launchpad's face, and his sidekick waved back.

"Hey, DW," he said, and smiled.

"Yeah, hi. This is important, LP, are you listening?" Launchpad nodded, and Darkwing said very clearly, "I need you to put your foot right _there_ , then put your hands -"

"Right there?" Launchpad looked down to where he was being instructed to step, and frowned, then looked back up at Darkwing blearily. "Uh, DW, there's a guy there."

Darkwing bit back his irritation as best as he could. " _I know that,_ " he said through gritted teeth. At his feet, the junior robber gave a little whimper. "Aw, suck it up," he said, and turned back to Launchpad. "You don't have to step on him HARD. It's a dramatic pose."

"Oh!" Clarity dawned on Launchpad's face, and Darkwing felt some hope for the state of the picture after all. He'd been considering just taking LP out of it - which would have been easier, and perhaps preferable, since he hadn't done much to catch the guy anyway. But, since it wasn't Launchpad's fault - Darkwing kept reminding himself that - it seemed like the charitable thing to do was to give him a little extra credit.

He'd made sure to tell the photographer to only mention _his_ name, though. There was charitable, and then there was saintly, and Darkwing wasn't feeling especially saintly tonight.

With Launchpad more or less comprehending what was going on, and standing in the right spot, Darkwing assembled himself in the right place. "Okay! Go! Take it now!"

"Please!" added the robber from his spot on the ground. Darkwing ignored him.

The photographer grunted. "Lemme focus."

Darkwing tried not to let his shoulders sag. How had this guy gotten this job, anyway? He had all that time to focus, and he'd just been goofing off! He snuck a glance at Launchpad, and found his sidekick's attention - and energy - wandering. In an effort to keep him awake, he said, "So, looks like a trip to the hardware store tomorrow, huh?"

"Wha?"

"You know, the gas gun? I'm gonna need to pick up some more bolts to repair it. Those are the ones you use to repair the video game controller, and we haven't picked any more up since Gos used it to kill that spider."

"Oh. The 4-1/4 double plait bolts?" asked Launchpad, turning to look at Darkwing.

"Don't look at me! Look at the camera!" said Darkwing quickly. The photographer was still fiddling, so no harm was done. In reply to Launchpad's question, he added, "I guess so. So, Outlet Hardware tomorrow?"

Launchpad shook his head, and Darkwing once again nearly shouted at him to keep still. "They went outta business," he said. He sounded much more aware than he had a few minutes ago, which was encouraging. "We can go to Bindler's, though. I bet they got 'em."

The photographer, looking surly, signaled. "All ready here."

"Great!" said Darkwing. He planted his foot firmly on the kid's back and gave the camera his best I-Am-The-Night look, just as Launchpad turned to him and said, "Oh, hey! If we go, you can meet-"

" _Look at the camera!_ " Darkwing said urgently, whipping his head around to snap at his sidekick. The flash went off. Darkwing, flabbergasted, whirled back around to the photographer. "No, wait! That didn't count! Take it again!"

"One is all you get, bud," said the photographer, already disassembling his camera and loading it piece-by-piece into his case.

"But- but-" Darkwing couldn't think of anything else to say, and simply stood with his mouth hanging open.

From the ground, the young robber said tremulously, "Can I _please_ get up and go to jail now?"

* * *

The phone rang.

It was dark. A hand slid from under the comforter and fumbled along the bedside table, smacking the alarm clock repeatedly before belatedly realizing that the intermittent ringing was unrelated to that particular object.

The woman in the bed lifted her head from her pillow and groped for the phone, catching it on what was probably the fifth or so ring, and answered groggily. "H'lo?"

"Beth?" came a woman's voice, twanging with a moderate Irish accent. Even at this hour, in her current state, she still recognized it.

"Mom?" She couldn't muster a reaction yet; what time was it? She squinted at the clock, trying to avoid getting her glasses. "What - why are you calling?"

"I had a terrible dream, Bethie. I dreamt y'had a mole, an' it got bigger an' bigger -"

This wasn't making a lot of sense. Beth wondered if maybe _she_ was having a dream. "A mole? Like as a pet? Why would I have -"

Her mother cut her off. "No, not the animal! The skin kind! It grew larger an' larger until it was half the size of yer head, and it turned into one o' those cancerous t'ings -"

"A tumor?" Beth had to pull the clock in close to her face to read it, sleep and nearsightedness combining to nearly defeat her. If she was reading it right, it was about ten to five in the morning.

"No, it was a mole!"

Beth sighed. "Mom, what exactly is the point of this call?"

"When was the last time you saw the dermatologist, Bethie?"

She couldn't answer for a moment. Not only because she couldn't remember the answer offhand, but also because it was early, she had to work soon, she was exhausted, and this call was stupid. Biting back her irritation, she answered, "I'm not really sure. Do you really think it's that important at this hour?"

Her mother's voice was insistent. "These t'ings are always important! Yer health is no laughin' matter, pet!"

"I wasn't laughing." She lay back against her pillow, pushing her hair away from her eyes. "Mom, it's not even five yet."

There was a moment of silence. "I t'ought you woke up soon anyway."

"No," she said wearily - nearly croaked, it felt like to her. "Not for another couple of hours."

"Oh." An even longer moment of silence, but this silence wasn't the kind that didn't say anything. This silence was _loaded_. Finally her mother said, "Well, I'm sorry to bother you wit' my love an' worry."

"Oh, come on." This was the last thing she wanted to get into. "That's not what I meant."

"I spend so much time worryin' about you, Bethie..."

Not this, please, not now. She was too tired to fight this off right now. She resisted the urge to raise her voice. "Mom, it's so early..."

"Well," said her mother, a wheedling tone creeping into her voice, "I can't help it. I'm yer mum, after all. I just hate the t'ought of ya, all alone out there in St. Canard, with no one to look after ya..."

"I'm really happy here," she lied. It came easily by now. "I'm not lonely, things are really going well for me here, and I don't want to move back there." The last statement was actually true, as it had been since the day she'd moved. The rest... Well, Beth decided not to think about it. It was too early in the morning.

Another long pause, and Beth's mother finally relented. "Well. I'll let you get back t'sleep, then, pet."

"Great. Thanks." Beth sighed, knowing that was unlikely to happen by this point, beyond a doze.

"But promise me one t'ing. You'll see a dermatologist first chance y'get, hm?"

"I promise."

"An' come home more often. Yer poppa misses you."

"You said one thing." Her breath caught with irritation, but she blew it out again. "Yeah, I'll come home soon."

"I love you, darlin'."

Beth rolled her eyes, a prerequisite before she could ever manage to parrot back, "Love you too, Mom."

She hung up the phone and shut her eyes, but as predicted, sleep didn't come before the alarm went off at 6:30.

* * *

The blueprints were perfect. As Megavolt looked between the large sheet he'd unrolled, and the platform atop the old Power Plant building, his heart swelled within his chest. The sun was rising, and in his mind's eye, the tower was a thing of beauty catching and reflecting the light, shiny and new, like a giant "Outstanding Employee of the Month" bronze plaque. Or something, something big and shiny, anyway. He'd figure that out later.

Well, on paper and in his head were nice and all, but there was no way to actually get the thing out in the real world unless he started building it. That, after all, was why he was out here at the crack of dawn: to build.

"Blueprints? Check," he said, pinning the unrolled plans to a corkboard he'd picked up someplace. Having pinned the plans on firmly, he tossed it to the side. "Copper wire, check. Welding torch, check. Jumper cables, check. Friti-O's for snack break," he paused, and patted the bag with satisfaction, "check!"

He paused to consult his list of materials. "Check check check... It looks like I'm ready to start this baby!" Grinning, Megavolt crushed the list in his right hand. "And then, the city will know true fear! They've never known an intellect like mine! Soon, they'll have to deal with - huh. Wait a minute." He uncrumpled the list and looked carefully between it and his pile of materials. He looked again, and a third time to be sure. "Aw, dang it! I forgot to pick up the 500 Double-Plait bolts, didn't I?" He held up the pinky finger on his left hand, and stared dolefully at the string tied around it. "I _knew_ that was there for something!"

Dejected, he kicked at the stone surface of the building's roof. This just didn't feel fair. He was ready to start this thing NOW! How else was he going to get it finished in time? "You betrayed me," he told the string around his finger, unwinding it in a fury. With a haughty expression, he abandoned it over the side of the building and let it fall all eight stories to the ground below. That would teach that good-for-nothing string.

"Well," he said with a sigh, "guess there's nothing to it now except to go shopping."


	2. Act I, part 1

Beth stifled a yawn - an hour and a half didn't seem like that much time when you were reading, but she really felt the deficit in her sleep this morning - and crossed off each numbered box from her bill of lading as the deliveryman scanned it.

Sullenly, the deliveryman pocketed his scanner and shoved a clipboard at her, then removed the pen from between his teeth and indicated she should sign. She flinched back from the chewed-up cap, then tried to smile and forced herself to gingerly take the proferred implement. "Um - thanks," she said politely, and managed to pop the cap off without touching it much.

He didn't answer; he very rarely spoke, she'd found. She had tried, at first, to be the one to initiate conversations just so that he'd know she wasn't being deliberately unfriendly; as her mother (and others) had so often said, if you don't talk, everyone will think you don't like them. But conversations hadn't been this particular man's cup of tea, apparently, and after a while Beth grew tired of tossing out comments about the weather and the pH count of the city's water only to have them met with silence. He didn't answer questions, either, such as when she had tried to find out if he liked any sports teams. Beth didn't know anything about sports, but a lot of people seemed to like to talk about them, so she'd felt it was within reason to bring up the topic. All it had gotten her was a snort and a clipboard shoved in her face, though, so she'd given that one up as well.

She double-checked all the numbers of the boxes on the slip she'd been given, and as she signed, the silence began to gnaw at her and she wondered yet again if she'd just misinterpreted the man. "Do you ever see a dermatologist?" she asked as she scribbled her name on the paper. When she handed the clipboard back to the deliveryman, she found he was staring at her with one eyebrow raised and his mouth pulled down into a frown. "Oh, well, I just wondered because my mother called me this morning and she just got it into my head, you know, and you're supposed to keep an eye on moles and freckles, and I really don't have any freckles and I never had any moles but then this morning I realized I'm not in the habit of checking for these things! So I just wondered if you-"

He took the clipboard and headed for the door, so Beth interrupted herself and sighed. "Well, thanks," she called after him as he left. Every week for about nine months, he'd come in here, and she still didn't even know his name.

She checked the clock: 9:55 am. She had five minutes before the store opened for the day, and she probably ought to spend it getting a head start in putting out the shipment. Instead she fished around on her manager's desk in the back room until she found a hand mirror, and tried to angle it to check her neck for moles.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered to herself, but she'd checked everywhere she could see on her own this morning before her shower and hadn't had time to try to check the parts she _couldn't_ see. The neck was tricky. She craned her head around, stretching her neck and twisting her arm about, but there was a section of the back of her neck that kept eluding her. She was probably going to need two mirrors.

And this was just NOT worth it, she concluded. She slapped the mirror down onto the counter and headed for the door, unlocking it a minute before her clock officially hit 10 am.

Time to put out the shipment, she decided, and grabbed a couple of the smaller boxes. Then she put them down again, and picked the mirror back up as she flashed on a potential way to angle it and get a better view.

The door crashed open, and she jumped and put the mirror down quickly, irrationally afraid that the manager, Henny, was going to jump out and accuse her of stealing private property. Instead, she looked to the door and saw the day's first customer: a man who was apparently dressed to lead a live staging of a battery commercial. Beth looked around the store just in case, to see if any cameras had preceded him or were on their way in.

Was that actually a battery on his _back_? she wondered, blinking for one moment longer before clearing her throat. "Um, hi," she said as loudly as she could manage. It sounded a bit like a squeak to her ears, but the customer looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time.

"Oh, _that's_ where you're hiding," he said, his tone suggesting he'd been looking for some time, and he pulled a slip of paper out of a pocket. "Let's see, maybe you can help me. I need..." He studied the paper, "powerful gasoline, a clean windshield, and a shoeshine!"

Beth was vaguely aware that her mouth was hanging open, but even though she tried, she couldn't make anything come out.

"Oh, wait. Wrong list." The stranger checked a pocket, then frowned and looked around. "This is the hardware store, right?"

"Y-yes," said Beth. _Keep a steady face and don't make eye contact,_ she told herself. _Everything's normal, everything's great..._ "B-Bindler's Hardware."

"Aha!" Battery Guy slapped his fist into the palm of his other hand, and went for another pocket. When he brought his hand back out, he had another list, this one written on what appeared to be the back of a pizza coupon. "Okay. Do you carry double-plait bolts?"

"Oh!" She hadn't been expecting a request that actually made sense; the question was so normal that it took her a moment to respond. "Oh, yes we do! What size?" As soon as she'd asked, she wished she hadn't. This might open up a whole new can of worms.

But apparently, Battery Guy was on track now. "Four-and-a-quarter," he answered, pleasantly enough. Beth was tempted to just point him in the general direction of the bolts, but it went against her customer service training to point to anything, so she steeled herself and led him to the section he'd need. On the way, he got chatty. "Boy, what a relief. I must've been to eight stores already today and none of 'em carried the right kind of bolt."

Beth wondered what time other hardware stores opened; Bindler's never opened before 10 am, and if Henny was the one opening it was usually about 30 minutes later than that. "Double-plait bolts can be tricky to find," Beth said. "A lot of places only have them by special order, and-"

"OOOH, is that a klinkenheimer?" the customer interrupted. He grabbed one of the tools on a nearby wall and, to Beth's slight alarm, hugged it. "Come to papa!"

 _Everything's_ _ **normal**_ _, everything's_ _ **great**_ , Beth told herself, and gestured to the wall of bolts and screws. "W-well, um, here ya go! p-Plait bolts are right here, and um, if you need any more we just got a shipment in that I haven't unpacked yet, so just let me know..."

Battery Guy took a box and squinted at it. "Twenty-four to a box," he muttered. He grabbed the three remaining boxes from the wall and said matter-of-factly, "I'll take another 16.83 of these from the new shipment."

"Um -"

"Oh, what the heck, I'm feeling kooky today. Make it an even seventeen!"

"I'll - see what I can do," stammered Beth. She made a hasty exit to the back, then felt anxious at the thought of the odd customer alone in the front of the store, and ended up dragging the box of the shipment she was after out into the front of the store to dig through it out there.

She came up with only fifteen boxes of bolts, and sighed. Before mentioning it to her customer - who was distracted, it seemed, by the electrical tape display - she decided to consult with the order log. It concurred with what she'd managed to dig out of the box: fifteen boxes, no more and no less.

"Um - sir?"

He was speaking to someone, but she couldn't see anyone else. His attention seemed to be on a large industrial-sized flashlight. "Well, granted, Feynman _did_ say that, but - oh, FINE, just ignore Einstein completely, why don't you!"

"...Sir?"

"Whaaaat? This better be important, we're in the middle of something here!" He shook the flashlight he was holding, and it looked like it was nodding.

"Well, I - the shipment - o-only -" She stopped, scrambling to gather herself. "I'm afraid we only had fifteen boxes. Of bolts," she said in response to his blank expression. The blank stare didn't change. "In the shipment. You - asked for seventeen...?"

Recognition lit his features, finally, and then slid right into a terrifying kind of frazzled anger. "WHAT? Well NOW what am I supposed to do? Do you think I can just use ANY kind of bolt to finish my work? Is that tower going to finish itself? Boy, that'd be nice, wouldn't it?" He finished in a return to his conversational tone from a moment before. Apparently not noticing Beth cowering in front of him, he simply shrugged. "Well, you guys aren't the only hardware store in the area. Incidentally I'll be taking a few more items as well as the bolts." He hefted an armload of electronics and basic handtools onto the counter.

Beth tried to breathe more easily, but with an awareness of the customer's mercurial moods, she knew she wouldn't be able to calm down until he was gone. "I-I'll ring you up, th-then," she said, and nearly ran for the counter.

"Oh," he said with a chuckle, "you really don't need to do THAT."

* * *

By the time Drake woke up, it was nearly noon. He slid downstairs towards the kitchen, his eyes not fully open until after the first two mouthfuls of coffee, and noticed Launchpad standing just behind him looking expectant.

"What?" he snapped.

Launchpad was unfazed. "How long ya think you'll need before we head to the hardware store?"

Drake felt blearier than he was sure he looked, and Launchpad's enthusiasm bugged him. "You're bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning," he said, sipping at his coffee again.

"Yeah, I dunno why, but I slept great!"

Drake rolled his eyes; leave it to Launchpad to get hit with knockout gas and wake up refreshed. "Caught up on some sleep, I guess," he ventured. "Why such a rush to go buy hardware?"

"I got a friend who works there," he said happily. "Thought I'd introduce ya."

"Thrilling." Drake relished his bad mood nearly as much as he did his coffee. "Sounds like exactly how I want to spend my day: hobnobbing with mechanics. Can't wait to meet him."

"Her," Launchpad corrected.

"Ah. _Her_. Even better." He gave a long sigh. "Give me a while to get myself together."

"No problemo." Launchpad pulled a chair up to the kitchen table, and picked the newspaper apart into sections. Finding the crosswords, he grabbed a pencil and then just stared in heavy concentration at the newsprint.

"Any mention of last night?" Drake asked, flipping through the sections Launchpad had discarded.

"Dunno," said Launchpad idly. "Didn't see anything."

"Well, they _took_ a photo, so I'd think - Ah-HA!" He stopped, finding a small picture tucked away at the back of the "local news" section. Almost immediately, he frowned. "'Vigilante Captures Citizen'," he read, and snorted. There was a pause.

Then he tossed the open newspaper in front of Launchpad, covering the still-blank crossword puzzle. He pointed at the photo. It was, as Drake had feared, of the worst possible moment: Darkwing was in the process of turning around to scold Launchpad, who was looking so groggy that he could have been heavily medicated.

"I have another headline," said Drake huffily. "'Sidekick Ruins Photo Opportunity'!"

"Sorry," said Launchpad contritely. He examined the picture, looking confused. "I don't remember them takin' that..."

"Pff. Figures. You were barely conscious." Drake tossed the paper down onto the kitchen table and sighed, staring at it. "Well, I guess there's nothing else for it! These things do happen, right?"

Launchpad shrugged. "I guess they do! That's a good way to look at it."

" _Que sera, sera,_ " Drake said, nodding. "Give me a minute to get ready, and we'll head over to the hardware store and get the bolts to fix up the gas gun. Get a good jump on the day." He looked down at the photo again, and frowned. In a more distracted voice, he said, "Yep, just one minute to get ready..."

* * *

Tuesday mornings were generally slow at Bindler's Hardware. As such, the typical day included only one person on shift in the morning, with the second worker not arriving for their shift until the early afternoon. The schedule always indicated that the second shift was to start at 1 pm, although there was a great deal of variation in this depending on just who was working the late shift.

Beth waited for her manager to arrive for the afternoon shift, feeling increasingly tense. It had been a bad morning. She had built her life on a solid foundation of routine, and that routine was crumbling around her. Beth hardly considered herself compulsive in any way - she was flexible, really she was - but a person could only handle so much flexibility in one day. One _morning_ , as a matter of fact.

And this wasn't just a matter of being flexible. This day was a matter of far, far more than flexibility.

She realized that she'd been tapping her index finger on the countertop in a sharp rhythm, and clenched her fist to make herself stop. Checking the clock, she found that it was just past 1 pm; going by the written schedule, Henny should be arriving any moment, but that rarely was the reality.

Still, she should probably get that hand mirror back into Henny's office - right? It was something to keep her busy, and keeping it out here was just increasing her obsession with checking the back of her neck, and that was never going to work. And she couldn't shake a growing paranoia that Henny would accuse her of stealing it -

At that particular word, she broke into a cold sweat, and swallowed hard. _Stop it, stop doing this to yourself!_ she thought, and slid off of her stool so that she could duck into the back room and replace the mirror.

As her feet hit the floor, however, the door opened and Henny walked in, her expression one of distinct unhappiness.

Beth's first reaction was, on instinct, to whip the mirror around her back, out of sight. "Henny! You're-" she began, looking at the clock; it was around five past one, and she bit her tongue. She certainly couldn't say "you're early", or even "you're on time" truthfully; and "you're not as late as usual" had the wrong kind of ring, especially when you said it to your manager. She scrambled for something else to say, and ended up with, "You're... looking well today!"

Henny, her face framed by hair curlier than Beth could ever dream of getting her own to look, raised an eyebrow. "Okay, thanks," she said, clearly finding the statement to be an odd one. She started for the back.

Stepping in front of her, Beth said, "Um - H-Henny, before you go back there, I should tell you-"

"Later," said Henny, waving impatiently, "kinda in a hurry."

"We-ell," Beth persisted, "this is - important, see, because -"

"Zip it, Beth, it's gonna have to wait!" Henny reached towards Beth, perhaps to push her aside, more likely knowing that this would get her employee to step aside politely.

Beth tried once more, even as Henny was nearly through the door into the back room. "Okay, but Henny, can I just -"

" _Beth, I gotta go to the can!_ " Henny said, managing to sound both irritated and petulant at once.

"Okay, okay," said Beth apologetically, "sorry! But - but as soon as you, I mean -"

"Yes, as soon as, okay!" She disappeared into the back, then stuck her head back out for another moment. "You put out all today's shipment yet?"

"Well, most of it-"

"'Kay. Well then, you got something to keep you occupied, don't you?" She disappeared again.

Beth wondered why putting out the shipment was urgent enough to not wait until after Henny's bathroom break, but well, it probably was a good idea to take her mind off of things. She normally had the Tuesday shipment out and on the shelves by noon, but today -

Okay. Take her mind off of things. Right. She went back to the boxes she'd been half-heartedly working on, and set about re-stocking the shelves. And any minute now, Henny would come out, and Beth would tell her about the robbery. Henny would know what to do.

Even Beth had to acknowledge that that last thought was kind of a stretch.


	3. Act I part 3

"Noooo, _you're_ not listening. Look, all I'm saying is that, as a dedicated reader of your newspaper, I found it disappointing that you can't spare the extra expense of hiring a competent photographer for your late-night shifts!" There was a pause, and then DW said, "Well, I'd say the quality of the photo in question makes it pretty clear that 'competence' isn't a skill this guy has!"

Launchpad looked at the photograph again, and tried to remember posing for it. He thought he might have remembered being instructed to stand on the robber, but that seemed so silly it might have just been a dream. DW was still going strong after nearly 20 minutes of complaining to the newspaper people; Launchpad checked his watch, sighed, and propped his face up on his elbow on the kitchen table.

"I meant the _photographer_! Who'd you _think_ I meant?" DW sputtered, his level of indignance getting almost dangerous. Launchpad winced; this call could go on for a while, now. DW now said, "Be that as it may, what kind of photographer only takes one shot and expects it to turn out perfectly? Is there some kind of world shortage on camera film? ...Well, why ELSE would you guys have used that shot, unless only one picture was taken? Darkwing Duck happens to be EXTREMELY photogenic, so if you're going to tell me that an entire roll of pictures only produced _that_ picture as printable -"

There was a pause, and then DW chuckled awkwardly. "What? Nooooo, no no no no, of course _I'm_ not Darkwing Duck. Heh heh. But, uh, I am, uh, flattered by the comparison. Heh heh. No, no, just a dedicated fan... One who, might I add, is sick of seeing this virtuous vigilante get underplayed in the media!" He picked his confident tone right back up and started going again. Launchpad snuck another look at his watch, then picked up a pencil and went for the crosswords page again. DW frowned and took the pencil away. "You know, I ALSO resent the implication that anyone who cares about Darkwing Duck getting fair and unbiased reporting is accused of _being_ Darkwing Duck. There are _plenty_ of people in his fan club, bub, so don't go thinking he's the only one looking out for his interests! That's right!"

DW paused, fiddling with the phone cord, and then snapped, "Yeah, well, if the quality of reporting doesn't improve you can bet there _will_ be a campaign against you guys! We little people can move mountains! Try explaining that one to your bosses, pal! Yeah, well, same to you!" He hung up abruptly, dropped into an empty chair, and crossed his arms, snarling.

Launchpad looked sympathetic. "Any luck gettin' a retraction?"

"They don't _do_ them for photos," Darkwing said, his tone mocking. "As if you can't hurt someone's reputation just as much with a photo as you can with a completely falsified story. LP, remind me later, we're going to have to see if the kids are up to starting a letter-writing campaign after school this week."

"Uh, sure," said Launchpad, hoping DW would forget about this one by the end of the day. "So, you ready to hit up the hardware store?"

"Yeah, yeah, might as well get that out of the way of the day," said DW. His mood appeared to be permanently soured, and Launchpad steeled himself to ignore any unnecessarily snappy comments that might be thrown his way. Just another one of those days, although with luck it still might turn around.

They set out around 1:30, with Launchpad driving and Drake looking moodily out the car window. "And what's the name of the place we're going to, again?" Drake asked, his tone implying he didn't particularly care.

Launchpad soldiered onwards. "Bindler's! They're kinda small but they sponsor a weekly do-it-yourself show on cable access. I think it's re-runnin' tomorrow night if you wanna -"

"Pass," said Drake flatly. "Small, huh? You sure they'll have what I'm looking for? I don't want to make two trips."

"Oh, they do. At least, they did last time I looked." Launchpad made it a point to keep up to date on all the local hardware stores. He liked visiting them, in fact; not only did it keep the Tower pretty well-stocked but he got a kick out of seeing which stores carried what. Bindler's was one of his favourites, because even though there were a number of standard things they _didn't_ carry - nail guns, for example, or cement that wasn't quick-dry - they tended to pick up a lot of fringe stuff you didn't see any place else. He'd taken to going in once a week, in fact, just to see what new items they'd ordered.

Well, okay, he conceded to himself that it wasn't _just_ to keep track of their stock. After all, he deliberately kept to one specific clerk's schedule, and he wasn't going to deny he'd gotten into the habit of flirting with her. But that was more like a perk than a real reason to keep going back; Beth was cute, but he'd been going to Bindler's since well before he'd met her, and he'd keep going even if she didn't work there anymore.

Speaking of which, he was planning on introducing DW to Beth, he remembered. "So, that friend of mine I toldja 'bout? I dunno for sure if she's working today, but if she is, you can ask her any question you want about hardware an' she can usually answer it."

"Oh, _any_ question?" asked Drake.

"Any!" agreed Launchpad, missing the sarcasm. "She's got a lotta the instruction manuals memorized."

"Charming. That's GOT to be fun on a date."

Launchpad chuckled. "Might be," he acknowledged. "I don't think she goes out on dates a lot, though."

"Noooo!" Drake sounded astonished, and this time Launchpad caught the over-emphasis.

"She's cute!" Launchpad said, surprised by his own defensiveness. "I mean - well, you gotta meet her. She's really smart and really..." He paused, looking for the right word; Beth had a vibe about her, and it was appealing, but it wasn't glamourous or cool. It was... "Cute," he decided, aware that he was repeating himself. But she really _was_ cute. Especially when she blushed. Sometimes she'd get really flustered, and that cracked him up.

Drake didn't look away from the window. "Cute, huh? I'll make a note of that in my log."

Launchpad laughed again, and parked the car. "Aw, you'll like her. C'mon."

DW started grousing on the way up the street towards the store, first - briefly - about the newspaper and then, when Launchpad wouldn't join him on that one, about the waste of time in going out to buy the stupid bolts just to repair the gas gun. "I mean, of all the luck!" he exclaimed as Launchpad pulled the door open for him, and they stepped inside. "It just figures that I only need _one_!"

The door drifted shut behind them, and Launchpad's eyes drifted automatically to the counter at the back of the store and settled on Beth. He found himself smiling at the sight of her. She hadn't noticed them come in; she was looking into a hand mirror, something he'd never seen her do. He nudged DW, and pointed towards her. "There, that's her."

"Her?" DW sounded dubious.

Launchpad shrugged, without taking his eyes off of Beth. She was, he noticed, holding the mirror out to her side at arm's length, craning her neck in the opposite direction and apparently trying to keep her eyes on her reflection at the same time. It looked more than a little awkward. Her hair, a deep brown, was up in a ponytail - he'd actually never seen it down - and she'd swept it over one shoulder, accentuating the smooth length of her neck. It seemed like a pretty uncomfortable way to try out a new look, he thought.

He stepped forward slightly. "Hey, Beth!"

She jumped and turned towards him a little, letting the mirror fall to her side almost guiltily. "Oh! Launchpad!" There was a pause, and then she smiled; when she spoke again she sounded glad to see him. "Hi! Hey, do me a favour? Can you check my neck for moles?" She turned her back to him and lifted her ponytail up out of the way, clearing her hair from her neck entirely.

"Sure, no problemo!" Launchpad grinned down at Drake, and received a very unimpressed look in return. Then he started towards her. "Moles, huh? Are we talkin' the little freckly kinds, or the furry animals that like to dig?"

Beth gave him a look over her shoulder, a sort of amused are-you-kidding-with-me smile with a raised eyebrow, and said, "Um, the former - at least I think."

"Just checkin'," he said easily, and she faced forward again, away from him.

"Today's not Friday, is it?" Beth asked. "I mean, not that I don't know - it's just that you don't usually come in on Tuesdays - or at least, not on the Tuesdays when I'm working I don't usually see you, so..."

She had a real way of filling silences, and although Launchpad generally found it congenial, he always felt a little sorry for her when she was doing it out of anxiety. "Nah, we needed to make a special run. Gotta pick up some double-plait bolts."

"Oh." Even from the back he could see her relax, as her shoulders fell a bit. She waited perhaps three seconds more before turning her attention back to the task she'd assigned him. "Anything?" she asked, sounding a little nervous.

It had been immediately obvious that she didn't have a single mark on her. Launchpad, enjoying the situation perhaps more than he should have, said, "I'm not sure... Lemme look closer."

"Okaaay," she said uncertainly, and took a backwards step towards him.

Grinning widely, he said, "Anyone ever compliment you on your neck before?"

"Wha-? N-no," she said, and turned to face him briefly, her cheeks lightly pink. She caught his eye, and looked briefly annoyed and more than a little flattered. "Okay, enough already, do you _see_ anything?"

"Nah," he answered, taking pity on her. "You're clean. Someone really oughta tell you someday how pretty your neck is, though."

Beth cleared her throat and looked at her feet, unable to hide that she was grinning. "Ha ha, funny funny. Anyway I'm sorry to spring that on you, it's just that my mother called this morning and sort of freaked me out, so..." She looked back up at him quickly. "Oh! Did you check around my shoulders? I haven't been able to see that either, and as long as you're here-"

"Oh, sure." He agreed before he really thought about it; upon reflection, he had to wonder if _she'd_ thought about it that much either. With the style of the collar on her shirt, to check the base of her shoulders he'd have to tug the collar down a little, which was a step beyond the kind of contact they'd had previously. In fact, he realized, he didn't think he'd ever actually touched Beth at all - not so much as a handshake, and now he was going to be pulling her shirt collar down to look closely at the skin on her neck.

Well, he was definitely making this sound like more than it was. If she'd been wearing a shirt with a lower neckline, her collar wouldn't even be an issue, would it? So, no big deal.

Except why did it _feel_ like such a big deal, then? Because he had a feeling that Beth wore shirts with kind-of-high collars by conscious choice? Because it was the first time he'd had a thought that maybe she wasn't just reacting to his flirting with her, but actually reciprocating?

Still holding her hair up to her head, standing with her neck slightly stooped, Beth asked, "Um... Is everything okay?"

Launchpad tried to swallow, and couldn't. And he couldn't think of a good reason why that should be the case. Before he could answer, a hand reached past him, tugged the shirt collar down momentarily, then let it go. "Your neck looks perfect," said the hand's owner from just behind him. Beth straightened up like a shot and whirled to face both Launchpad and Drake, who continued, "Can _I_ get a little help now?"

"I - I-" Beth looked absolutely helpless, and was blushing far more heavily than she had over anything Launchpad had ever said. She looked quickly back and forth between both Drake and Launchpad, while Launchpad realized that for just a moment he had completely forgotten that Drake was even in the store. "I'm so - so sorry, I didn't know anyone else was here - um - how can I help you?" She apparently noticed for the first time that she was still holding the hand mirror, and tucked it down quickly under the cash register.

Launchpad decided to step in and rescue her. "Relax, this is a friend of mine," he said to Beth, who didn't look any more at ease. Her hand stole to the back of her neck, where she fumbled with the tag of her shirt for a brief second before coming to rest on the base of her shoulder. "Drake, this is Beth, the worker here I was tellin' you about?"

"I gathered that," said Drake flatly. Launchpad got the feeling he wasn't pleased to have another interruption from the actual purpose of his errand, but he sighed and held his hand out to Beth. "Drake Mallard."

"Beth," she answered, taking his hand lightly and shaking it in a quick jerk. "Beth Mallard."

She froze. Launchpad caught a look of puzzlement on DW's face just before he looked at Beth; her mouth was hanging open in horror. "Webfoot! I mean Webfoot. Beth Webfoot, that's me!" She let go of DW's hand, and laughed it off.

"Nice to meet you," Drake said perfunctorily, and turned to look around the store. "Now, as much as I enjoy charming company and delightful conversation about skin imperfections, I _do_ have an ulterior motive in coming here. If you could just point me in the direction of the double-plait bolts, I'll be more than happy to-"

"Double-plait bolts? Right this way!" Beth smiled brightly and stepped out from behind the cash wrap, leading Drake and Launchpad to a wall towards the back of the store. "We keep all the bolts here, but if there's anything you don't see, let me know and I'll check the back."

"Sure. Thanks." Drake began to busy himself by looking along the wall of bolts, and Beth stepped back towards Launchpad and leaned in close to him.

He leaned close to her, aping her motions out of instinct, and was close enough to realize that her hair smelled nice but not close enough to identify just _what_ it smelled like when she whispered, "I said Mallard!"

"Huh?"

She looked up at him, anguish all over her face. "I said my name was Beth Mallard! I just spaced out and I sounded like a total dweeb!"

He had to laugh. "Aw, I don't think he even noticed."

"Really?"

"Sure. DW doesn't think too much about stuff like that."

She looked at Drake's back pensively. "'DW', huh? Do most of his friends call him that or-"

Shoot, that had come out by mistake. Launchpad tried to cover. "Uh, it's kind of a nickname, from... uh... from when we were kids."

"Oh." She nodded. "I should probably just call him 'Mr. Mallard' anyway."

"I'm sure you could call him Drake. He wouldn't mind." _Would_ he mind? Things that seemed obvious to Launchpad were sometimes much more complicated in DW's mind, and vice versa. Well, almost the only person who called DW "Mr. Mallard" was Honker, so probably Beth could call him Drake if she wanted.

Beth cocked her head, still looking at Drake's back, and she touched the back of her neck again, her expression almost vacant. "Are you two good friends?"

"Yep!" Launchpad answered cheerfully. "We work together too!"

"Oh yeah? What do you do? I mean - what does he do? Or, um, what do both of you-"

"Uh, it's complicated," said Launchpad. He really had to remember that Beth paid attention to the things that people said; he was having to backtrack an awful lot in this conversation. "Civil service stuff. Kinda."

"Civil service," she repeated, a little softly.

When she didn't follow that comment up with anything, Launchpad looked at her in profile. Beth looked like everybody else, and like no one he'd ever seen before. She had an amazing skill at blending into scenery; he'd probably never even have really noticed her, even when she was helping him with a question, except that she had knocked a broom or a pan or something over. He couldn't remember what it was, only that she'd done it with such a beautifully choreographed sense of disaster that she'd suddenly become _real_ to him in a way she hadn't been before. It was like he blinked and there she was.

He'd thought she must have been new, but it turned out she'd been working there for the past three years already - well before he'd started coming in to the store - and she was full-time so he must have been in the store at the same time as her at least a dozen times before. Somehow he'd totally missed her.

It was true, of course, that Beth was not his usual type. Working for Mr. McDee he'd encountered quite a few ladies, generally glamourous and exciting and outgoing, and Beth was - by her own admission - none of those things. What she was instead was down-to-earth, practical, and shy. She talked a lot, right off the bat, and didn't slow down once she got going; Launchpad was surprised to find that even though a little of it was just filler chatter, once she got comfortable more and more of it was really interesting. There was something inviting about the way she spoke, and even more so when she settled in to listen. Unlike some talkative people, Beth didn't pretend to be interested in what other people had to say; she just talked as a way to pass the time until other people spoke.

Launchpad smiled at her, though she didn't see him, since her eyes were still on Drake. She really was cute, he thought, getting her own name wrong in an introduction. Well, he had to admit as he looked at her now, she was more than cute. It was just that he didn't take much notice of that, since they were just friends anyway. She was pretty - pretty in a way you didn't usually look twice at, because she was so good at making herself look boring, but when you really _looked_ at her...

Beth turned to him again, opening her mouth and taking a breath, and then stopped. "Sorry - was I doing something?" she asked.

"Huh? No. Just thinkin'," he answered.

"About what?"

"Beth Mallard," he answered, and chuckled. She blushed pink, and pouted.

* * *

Launchpad flirted away behind him with the shopgirl, and Drake ground his teeth together and scanned the wall for the bolts he needed. They were whispering like teenagers, and here he was, a paying customer, being ignored! If that girl had any idea that she was standing in the way of _justice_ , she'd probably change her tune.

"Did you need help finding anything?" she asked, and he turned to find her _right there_ , at his shoulder all of a sudden.

He took a step back, swallowing a yelp of surprise, and recovered quickly. "Yes, actually, if you're really on the clock."

"Um, yes?" she answered uncertainly.

Drake wasn't aware that he'd said something she'd need to guess the answer to, but he wasn't in the mood to point that out. The girl was a flake, that was obvious; the sooner he could get himself and LP out of here, the better. "I'm not seeing the kind of bolt I need. You've got a whole lot of double-plait bolts but unless I'm going blind I don't see the size I came here for-" He gestured at the wall. She leaned forward, sort of squinting, which was a silly thing to do because Drake hadn't told her yet what size he was looking for. It seemed like everybody he interacted with today existed solely to slow him down.

Beth straightened up and turned towards him, looking squarely at his forehead instead of his eyes. "I'm sorry, what size -?"

"Four-and-a-quarter," he said quickly.

She nodded, then smiled. "Four-and-a-quarter! That's funny, just this morn-" The smile slid off her face. "Oh. Ohhhhh."

 _Now_ what? Drake tried valiently not to scowl as she put a hand to her mouth. "Is there a problem? Do you not carry them?"

"Well no - no, we carry them - um can you wait right here? I - I need to check the back." She put her palm up towards him, firmly signaling that he should stay put, and backed away a few steps before turning and practically running towards the back of the store.

Drake shook his head. "I don't know how this place stays in business," he said in a low voice.

"They usually have 'em," said Launchpad, sounding almost puzzled by the situation. Drake decided not to mention that the selection was _not_ what he had been criticizing.

Meanwhile, Beth was about six inches from the door to the stockroom when it swung widely, missing her beak by about an inch. She stepped backwards so quickly that she nearly lost her balance and fell. From the stockroom emerged a woman wearing more makeup than Drake had seen on your average mime. Her hair was a very curly honey-blond, right up until about a quarter-inch from her scalp where it was a much darker shade, as well as somewhat straighter. She stopped, blinked lazily at Beth, and then stepped right past her without a word of explanation.

The new woman's face lit up when she spotted Drake and his sidekick; it took Drake a second to realize she wasn't looking at him.

"Hiiiii, Launchpad!" she said in a voice that sounded like nails on a chalkboard. "Long time no see!"

Although Launchpad smiled politely, Drake noticed that he took an involuntary step backwards and ended up with his back against the wall of bolts. Several boxes shook and one or two fell to the ground. "Hiya Henny. How've ya been?"

"Oh, not bad, not bad. Better now that you're here." Henny fluttered eyelashes that could only have been fake, and smiled in a way she evidently thought was becoming. At the same time, she completely ignored Beth, who had followed her and was tugging lightly on her sleeve. Somewhat petulantly, Henny added, "You said you'd be in sometiiime."

"Well, here I am!" Launchpad answered.

"I was expecting you _much_ sooner. In fact I almost gave up hope." She actually swatted at Beth's fingers when her employee tugged again at her shoulder. Although Drake knew he would probably find sleeve-tugging pretty irritating himself, that didn't keep him from deciding that he absolutely loathed this new woman. From Launchpad's reaction, Drake wasn't the only one who didn't quite care for her, either. "Y'know, I have the late shift tonight so I got a break just around dinner time. We could catch up on everything that's-"

"Hi there, guess you're the boss around here, huh?" Drake stepped in between her and Launchpad, catching her attention for the first time. "Maybe YOU can tell me why you don't seem to carry the bolts I need, which my friend here has assured me repeatedly that you carry."

As Henny's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, Beth tapped her boss's shoulder with a fraction more urgency. "Henny...?" she said in a loud whisper. "Can I talk to you?"

"One second," Henny said to Drake, her voice oozing false congeniality, and she turned to Beth. In an oddly effective combination of a snap and a whisper, she said, " _Zip it_!" Then she turned back to Drake. "I'm sorry, sir, if my employee here is falling short of your expectations. We take our customers VERY seriously here. How can _I_ help you?"

Behind her, Drake noticed, Beth looked uncomfortable and put her fingertips against her forehead anxiously. In his peripheral vision he noticed Launchpad taking a step towards her, but his sidekick never made it beyond that first step, since Henny turned and flashed him a huge smile.

As calmly as he could manage - imagine all this fuss over a handful of stupid bolts! - Drake said, "I need a certain kind of bolt. Four-and-a-quarter double-plait bolts - they look like this-" Drake held out a finger and curled it slightly. Henny raised an eyebrow and managed to make it clear that she had no idea what he was talking about, and she was offended that he'd thought she would. Drake coughed and relaxed his finger. "Uh, anyway... I only need one, so if I can avoid buying a whole box, that'd be great."

Henny had her arms crossed, and looked bored. "Hey, big spender," she said, and uncrossed her arms. "I'll see what I can do. Beth, check the back, will ya?"

Beth stood her ground, and looked intently at Henny's feet. "Um, actually, before I do that - I think maybe I should just tell you about, um, what happened earlier?"

"Oh, for crying out loud..." Henny said it first, but Drake was surprised to hear her echoing what he was saying on the inside. "Okay, okay, _what_ happened?"

"Well..." Taking one hand in the other, Beth started twisting her fingers, still looking at the floor. She cleared her throat. "You know how you came in earlier, Henny, and I wanted to tell you something but you had to -" She stopped herself, then continued, "Um, you had to do the paperwork?"

"Yeaaaahhh..."

Clearly very aware of the three sets of eyes on her, Beth looked like she was trying to find a way to melt into the floor as she continued. "W-well... Um... C-can we talk about this in the back, actually?"

"I think that anything you wanna tell me, you can say in front of our friendly customers," said Henny haughtily. Drake couldn't tell if she was punishing Beth in advance for whatever had happened, or if she was just a jerk. He had his suspicions.

Beth winced. "W-well, the thing is, I don't need to go to the back to look for the bolts, b-because, um, before you got here today this guy came in, and he kind of..." She looked up at Henny, then quickly changed her mind and looked back down again. "He _sort of_ bought all that we had."

"All of them?" Henny sounded surprised, but not entirely displeased. "Really? Jeez, why didn'tcha just say so?"

"Well... because... well, when he bought them, um, he _sort of_ f-forgot to pay..."

There was a gasp. Everyone, Beth included, turned to look at Launchpad, who looked back at them sheepishly. "Sorry. That just slipped out," he said.

Henny whirled on Beth. "We got ROBBED?"

"N-no! I mean, well, yes kind of, but -"

"We got ROBBED and you didn't even think you needed to TELL ME?" Henny took two rather terrible steps towards Beth, who had been cringing since before Henny had even spoken.

"I - I tried!" Beth said, her voice so quiet that it was almost lost under Henny's enraged breathing. "You were busy-!"

"Do you know..." Henny began, holding her hands out towards Beth and brandishing an impressive and threatening set of acrylic nails, "Do you _know_ how bad this is going to make me look!"

At this point everything got a little crazy, as Henny grabbed for Beth, Launchpad stepped towards them both to stop her, and Beth yelped; Drake was never sure but at the time he got the impression she actually _said_ "Eek!" In the end, it was all so ridiculous and he was so fed up over not being able to get the single stupid bolt that he stepped in himself.

"Well, I'm sure this is all VERY hard for you to process," he said, standing in front of Beth and blocking Henny's access to her. Henny looked positively taken aback at the intrusion. "And I'm sympathetic. Believe me. So if you'll do me the favour of just letting me know where I can get my bolt, I'll get right out of your hair and you can do... whatever it is you do here."

Henny gaped at him for a moment, then scowled. "SHE'LL tell you," she said, gesturing over Drake's shoulder. Then she turned sharply and stalked towards the cash wrap, where the phone was. "I have to file a _police report._ " There was no mistaking the accusation in her words.

Drake heaved a huge sigh, ground his teeth together, and prepared to railroad the names of a few other hardware stores out of Beth. This time he wasn't going to let anyone distract him - _this_ time, he was just going to get the information he needed, and finally get out of this hole in the wall.

As he turned, however, his heart sank; Beth was looking at him with wide, grateful eyes. "Thank you _so much_ ," she said, her voice still quiet. He realized that she thought he'd stepped in front of Henny with the direct intent of saving her, and he nearly groaned out loud. Now she thought she'd made a _friend_ or something. "I know I should have said something, but sometimes Henny just doesn't want to listen, and I really did _try_ but she just wouldn't let me get the words out."

Drake wondered how anyone could stop this woman from talking, and made a mental note to interview Henny on her technique. He nodded sharply. "Yeah. You've been through a lot, huh? So how about you just let me know where to go to get that bolt, and I'll -"

"Yeah," Beth nodded, and to his huge dismay, did not start talking about hardware stores. "To be totally honest, this guy was just kind of... unnerving. I don't usually like to judge customers but he was - he was _weird_ , I really think there might have been something... _wrong with him_." She finished in a whisper, and tapped her forehead.

"Uh-huh." Drake put his palm to his own forehead, mostly to try to keep from strangling her. "Soooo, the bolt...?"

"Oh!" Beth smiled nervously, and seemed to bounce to her feet even though she was already standing up; her posture suddenly improved markedly. "Right! Let me look at the phone book and I'll see what I can get you."

As she darted off, Drake breathed a sigh of relief and considered making his escape. But Launchpad was at his shoulder, and before he could mutter a suggestion about leaving, his sidekick said, "DW - if they got robbed, isn't that somethin' we should look into?"

He actually considered it for a moment; but in the momentary lapse of conversation, he could hear Henny talking dramatically into the phone about a violent holdup, how she'd risked her life by pushing her employee out of the way of a gun, and how several thousand dollars was gone from the register. Drake snorted. "They're on their own."

Beth reappeared, holding a sheet of yellow lined paper with a nearly illegible scrawl over it. "Okay - these are the addresses and phone numbers of six different hardware stores in the area that I _think_ carry the bolts you want. And if they don't then you can maybe special order them or something. Oh - do you want to special order them here?" She looked very hopeful suddenly.

"Not especially," said Drake curtly. "Now, I really need to-"

"Can you read my handwriting?" Beth asked suddenly. Drake had wondered that himself, but he wasn't going to say anything.

Unfortunately, Launchpad took up the conversation again. "Hmmm... I think I can make that out," he said. He was about to try flirting again, Drake could hear it in his tone. "Is that a 'Q'?"

"It's a 'G'!" Beth said, sounding at once embarrassed and pleased. "Oh, this is going to be completely useless, isn't it?"

Unable to help himself, Drake actually did groan aloud as the two got back into the subject of the robbery. Beth was describing the "weird guy" in some detail as Drake tried to sneak out the front door; he was nearly there when something in her description clicked in his head.

"...And I know this sounds crazy, but I _swear_ to you he was wearing a battery on his back."

"Huh, no kidding?" said Launchpad, without showing any trace of recognition. Drake found this maddening.

Despite his better instincts, Drake spoke again. "You're talking about Megavolt."

A lightbulb seemed to go off over Launchpad's head, and he said, "Oh hey, yeah!"

Beth, on the other hand, looked completely blank. "Who?"

"Megavolt!" Drake, irritated, walked back towards them. "Crazy electrified rodent who wears a plug as a hat? Looks like he stuck his finger into one too many wall sockets?"

"Oh," said Beth. "I have no idea who that is, but it sounds about right."

From the back of the store, Henny called out, "Don't tell them anything else, Beth! We have the right to a lawyer!"

"He was just asking ab-"

"Need-to-know basis!" Henny yelled back.

Launchpad said, "Hey, DW, if it was Megavolt don't you think we should-"

" _Zip it_ ," Drake hissed, grabbing hold of his sidekick's scarf and yanking him towards the door. "Thanks for the list, Ms. Webfoot, really regret that we can't stay and chat."

"You're leaving?" Beth asked, looking and sounding disappointed. "Well - come back so-"

They were out the door before she finished the sentence. Drake felt like he could breathe for the first time since they'd stepped inside that store.

"Wow," said Launchpad. "So, Megavolt, huh?"

Drake nodded. "I wonder what that voltage junkie would want with a bunch of hardware?"

"Dunno." Launchpad thought for a moment, then offered, "Maybe he's gonna build an addition onto that lighthouse he hangs out in."

"I kind of doubt that one, LP," Drake answered. They reached the car. "Well, here's the plan. We wasted enough time on the bolts today - we'll have to take care of those later. From here on out we're on the hunt for Megavolt. Whatever his scheme is, we're on top of it! Nothing is going to get by us!"

"I'm with ya, DW!" said Launchpad enthusiastically. After a brief silence, "So, what'd ya think?"

Puzzled, Drake said, "I thought I just told you."

Launchpad laughed. "Nah, not about Megavolt! I mean Beth!"

"Oh. Well, she's..." Drake paused, then shook his head and exhaled loudly.

"I know, huh?" Launchpad grinned. "Y'know, I was kinda thinkin' it might be nice to hang out with her outside of Bindler's. Thought I might ask her out to dinner or somethin'."

Drake wrinkled his bill a little. "Her?"


	4. Act II part 1

Megavolt sat with his legs crossed in front of him, one elbow propped on the corresponding knee, and stifled a yawn. Double-plait bolts were _incredibly_ hard to find in St. Canard, it turned out. Making matters worse, when he went back to his original notes for the tower's blueprints, he found that he'd made note of that fact and even underlined it. Twice. And circled it in red. And then written "FIND SUBSTITUTE."

Of course, hardship bred determination and so in the end his resolve had just doubled; he'd come to realize that there _was_ no substitute for the good old four-and-a-quarter double-plait bolt and he would not hear of anyone besmirching its reputation.

Therefore, after an exhaustive search from one end of St. Canard to the other, Megavolt had finally procured all five hundred of the bolts he needed.

Or so he'd thought. He'd spent the day scouring hardware stores, examining structures, and prying bolts out of various constructs throughout the city and he was certain he had not only obtained another forty-four in addition to the four hundred and fifty-six he'd picked up that morning, but had also picked up an extra just to be totally positive that he had _more_ than enough.

That last one had been especially hard to get, in fact. Why was there that stupid saying about taking candy from a baby? Taking things from babies, it turned out, was a lot harder than that saying would have you believe. The less said about it, the better.

Whatever the situation, he'd gathered all the fruits of his labours and headed up to the rooftop for some peace and quiet so that he could count the bolts and be totally sure he had the right number. And after trying four times, and getting through the whole pile only once, he'd come up short.

He had an idea it was that pigeon's fault. It was definitely the pigeon's fault that he'd had to count four times, that was for sure. Megavolt didn't know what had attracted the dumb bird to his head in the first place, but once it had decided to perch on his hat, it wouldn't be dissuaded. No amount of shouting, threatening, or bribery would get it to leave him alone; he'd even tried distracting it, but it hadn't seemed to believe him when he'd said he'd seen a very beautiful lady pigeon on the next roof over.

In any case, he'd finally gotten rid of it - no need for details, but the statues in St. Canard had one less pigeon to worry about - and was settling down to try and give the whole pile a good, solid counting as it deserved. Because it wasn't possible - not after the entire day he'd had - that he only had four hundred and ninety-nine.

It just was _not_ possible, and he was going to prove it, if he had to count the bolts until the sun came up. He glared at them, and shook a finger at the pile before him. "Okay, fellas. I'm warning you before we even get started: I'm a tough guy and you don't wanna mess with me. So there'd better be five hundred of you guys, if you know what's good for ya! Otherwise..." He looked around to find something suitable to threaten with; there was nothing at hand, and he didn't really know yet what bolts were afraid of anyway. "Well, I don't know yet, but trust me, you won't like it! And it'll probably involve medieval water torture!" That sounded good. _No one_ liked medieval water torture.

* * *

"Are you sure he's up there?"

Darkwing gripped his binoculars tightly and scanned the rooftop. He couldn't see anyone right now, but he was certain that the random electrical output he'd seen coming from this building was a clue to be acted on.

Except that they'd been halfway down the block when he'd seen the flashes, and now that they were closer, there was no movement or light... just a subtle smell of ozone. He held the binoculars ever tighter, and refocused his attention.

Something caught his eye, and he hastily repositioned the binoculars to center on it; he was just in time to see that it was a pigeon. The bird lit on something and disappeared from view. Disappointed, Darkwing brought the binoculars down from his face. "I really _thought_ ," he began, but was interrupted by a loud ZAP and a squawk from the rooftop. He and Launchpad both looked up quickly, to see an electrical display that culminated with a very charred-looking bird flying away in a frenzy.

Darkwing narrowed his eyes and smiled. "He's there."

Launchpad nodded, his eyes still skyward. "Poor pigeon."

"The pigeon is nothing compared to what he'll do to the rest of the city if we don't stop him, LP," Darkwing countered. He started to raise the binoculars again, then changed his mind. He had all the proof he needed that Megavolt was on that rooftop; now was the time for action, not observation.

"So what's the plan?"

"The plan is simple." Darkwing gave the building a quick glance; it wasn't too high, only about four or so stories tall. "I'll scale the wall and take him by surprise on the roof. Once I'm up there, I'll take him down quickly using my advantage of _stealth_." He turned back to Launchpad. "Your job, LP, is to run back-up as needed. Anything can happen with Megavolt, so you watch here and wait for a signal. If I need you, I'll come to the edge of the roof and wave my hand - not once; not twice; but _thrice_." He emphasized each word with a raised finger. "Three hand waves means you come up and distract him. I'll pretend to be out for the count and while he's focusing on you I'll turn the tables on him."

"Using stealth?" asked Launchpad.

Darkwing raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out if he was being mocked. "Yes. Stealth." He withdrew his gas gun and set about loading it with a grappling hook. "Any questions?" he asked, only slightly distracted.

"Ooh, well, here's one. When I come up after the signal, how come _I_ don't just use stealth and take Megavolt out?"

"Because I'm better at it," Darkwing answered, trying to shove as much of the feeder rope as he could down into the barrel of the gun.

Launchpad thought about this. "I can be stealthful," he said, almost petulantly.

"Stealthy," Darkwing corrected him, without looking up. He glanced at his sidekick, and sighed. "Okay okay, I _know_ you can be stealthy, LP, but... uh... it's just that you, you're better at..." He fumbled, then hit on the perfect way to put it. "...At the direct approach! Yeah, that sounds good. I mean, we have to play to our strengths in this business."

"Well..." Launchpad paused again, and Darkwing crossed his fingers that Launchpad would buy it. He didn't have a lot of time for hand-holding at the moment, and it wasn't like it was untrue. "Guess you're right about that," Launchpad finished, now much more cheerful. "Oh, another one. Why don't I just come up with ya in the first place?"

"Because," answered Darkwing, "then we'd lose the element of surprise on your entrance. Back-up is much more useful when it's surprise back-up." Satisfied with his gun, he looked at Launchpad levelly. "You wanna take notes or anything here?"

Fortunately, Launchpad chuckled over that one, and Darkwing didn't have to explain it.

* * *

"Four hundred and ninety-seven." Megavolt moved the little bolt from the tiny pile he was counting from over to the pile of those he'd already counted, and fancied that it made a face at him as it went. He was starting to really hate these guys. Why had he ever stuck up for them earlier? "Four hundred and ninety-eight." It was very obvious the way the wind was blowing here, too. As he walked the next bolt from one pile to the other, he didn't need to count any other bolts in the pile to know he was still one short. There was only one left.

He said the words aloud anyway, in near disbelief. "Four hundred and ninety-nine." For a moment, all he could do was stare at them, the bolts, his albatross. Then he lost his temper. "You... you little Judases! We-had-a-DEAL!"

He would have lost his cool completely and just melted them down into slag if a little clunk hadn't distracted him. "Who said clunk?" he asked aloud. If it was that pigeon again...

Examination of the rooftop revealed a new presence: a large metallic spider whose head had been removed, along with four of its legs. It might have been a robot; Megavolt wasn't sure. It was clinging tenaciously to the edge of the rooftop, two legs curled under the overhang. Megavolt approached it curiously, and then noticed that someone had tied a string to it. He rolled his eyes; probably kids, they were always bullying the weak.

"Hey, little fella. What's your name?" he asked the spider, forgetting that it had no head and therefore no ears. The spider didn't answer - no surprise, given that it also had no mouth - but the string shook, and as Megavolt watched, an object began to come into view. Bit by bit, the object rose: a bit of grey at first, then the broad brim of a grey hat, and the next thing he knew he was eye-to-eye with a duck in an obnoxiously purple mask.

Darkwing saw him, and froze. They stared at one another for a moment or two, and then Darkwing grinned weakly and lifted his hat in greeting. "Heh heh... Surprise," he said in a shaky voice.

Megavolt's temper flared up. "You... you... you _ROBOT ABUSER_!" He exploded, sending a barrage of electrical bolts toward his enemy, who yelped and ducked back down below the edge of the roof. Megavolt yelled, "I should call the AI Society and report you!" He made it to the edge of the roof and leaned over, intending to finish the duck off right there, but Darkwing surprised him by leaping forward, onto the rooftop, and grabbing his shoulders on the way. Both he and his do-gooder enemy were thrown backwards by the momentum, and soon they were grappling hand-to-hand.

* * *

"All right then. We'll give you a call if we need any further information, or if we need you to identify a suspect." The officer rose, and reached out a hand towards Beth.

She assumed that he was offering to shake her hand and not help her up out of her chair; since she had to stand a little bit to reach his grasp, the latter would have been a little silly. "Um, okay," she said, eyeing the door. All the police she'd dealt with while giving her statement had been very nice, but she still would feel better when all this was over. "Um - am I going to have to go to court or anything like that?"

"That depends on if your employers decide to press charges," the police officer answered. "Since this is a relatively minor theft, they may not."

"Oh. No, Bindlers' prosecutes shoplifters," she said, quoting the slightly worn sign that adorned the door leading to the employees-only section of the store. She was dismayed; going to court and taking part in a trial was not only time-consuming, it was nerve-wracking. She'd be up on the stand, that kooky "Megawatt" guy would see her and know she was testifying against him, and worst of all every single person in the court room would be judging her based on her posture and body language and probaby her clothes and hairstyle to boot. "Will I _have_ to do it?" she asked hopefully.

"Not if we don't catch the guy." The officer gave her a half-smile. "And to be honest, unless he strikes again, the chances of catching him are pretty slim."

"Really?" Beth found this even more dismaying than the idea of testifying in court. "But I gave you a description and everything!"

The police officer shook his head. "These kinds of crimes don't solve themselves, and we run out of leads pretty quickly on the little one-time offenses. If he starts up a crime wave around the city we might nab him, but it's only really likely to happen if we catch him in the act or if he does something huge."

"Oh." She couldn't tell if she was relieved or just plain worried about the state of the justice system in St. Canard. No wonder the crime rate was so high and the property values were so low. "Okay. Well, as long as you have my number..."

"Right where we need it," said the officer. He nodded at her in a friendly way, and Beth read between the lines and saw that he was more than ready for her to leave. "Thanks for coming in."

"Sure," she said. She checked the clock on the wall of the station on her way out; it was nearly ten pm. She'd been there for a good three hours now, and was starving. She considered stopping off at Hamburger Hippo on her way home, but decided not to; she had leftovers in the fridge and her head was sore from the dim light in the station, so the most appealing plan was the one that got her home the quickest.

The evening was vibrant. That wasn't the right use of the adjective, but it was the only way that Beth could think of to describe it; the air seemed to almost have an electrical charge, and the whole area smelled like her vacuum cleaner when it got a short circuit. She found it oddly disconcerting, but shook it off and started home.

The problem with ending up at the police station was that it was a good deal out of her way. Bindler's was easily a fifteen-minute walk from her house, and the police station was probably another twenty minutes past that. Oh well, it would give her time with her thoughts.

And that, she realized, was something she hadn't had all day. It was only now that she had time to slow down and reflect on the day she'd had that she realized how badly she'd been _wanting_ to reflect on it. The call from her mother had seemed to set the tone for most of it: unexpected, unwanted, and so odd that it was difficult to figure out how to deal with it. And then getting robbed - had that really happened more than 12 hours ago, now? Yet she could believe it: it felt like it had been a week ago.

Her head hurt. She rubbed her eyes - it was probably time for her to get her prescription changed for her glasses - and her thoughts slipped to the real thing she'd been wanting to think about, the face that had kept popping into her mind all the time she'd been answering questions and filling out reports and apologizing to Henny and to the upper management.

Drake Mallard. That was a nice name.

She couldn't put a real reason on why it was so nice, but she liked the sound of "Drake"; it sounded so casual and earthy. And "Mallard" was one of those last names that went with pretty much everything just perfectly. No name sounded odd when paired with "Mallard". Not even Beth (she shook her head, grinning in embarrassment; how could she have possibly _said_ that out loud?).

Drake Mallard.

Beth wondered if she'd ever see him again. He was... interesting, as though everything about him could be seen in his face and his actions except for _one_ part of him, one mystery that he was hiding away. She wondered what that mystery was; a tragic past maybe.

Good _lord_ , she was creating an entire fiction over a man she'd met _once_ , for just a few minutes! She blushed and tried to laugh at herself. It wasn't as if she was likely to see him again, so there was no reason whatsoever to wonder about him, because... because...

She really hoped she saw him again.

"Oh, Beth, stop it," she said to herself, softly. "Don't start this." She barely knew him. She _didn't_ know him. She knew Launchpad - barely - and she had _seen_ Launchpad's friend for maybe five minutes, once, and she didn't know anything about him. But she liked Launchpad and she didn't think he would be friends with bad people, and what harm was there in... daydreaming? Especially if she wasn't going to see him again?

She knew perfectly well what the harm was. Beth shifted her jacket from one arm to the other and sighed. The number of times she'd romanticized guys she barely knew... Fallen in love with an idea... She was actually surprised that she hadn't done that by now with Launchpad, but she seemed to have avoided it. Thank goodness. He was _way_ out of her league.

And Drake Mallard wasn't? He hadn't even seemed to want to talk to her much of the time he was in her store. But, somehow, he still seemed approachable; he seemed so normal, so level. And more than that, there was a confidence to him - an air he radiated that just made her want to _know_ him. She really, _really_ wanted to know him - to be liked by him. It seemed somehow that it would make all the difference in her life.

She thought of the feeling of his fingertips on the back of her neck, as he'd tugged at the neck of her shirt. 'Your neck is perfect,' he'd said. _Perfect._

No one had ever described anything about Beth as "perfect", unless you counted test scores.

She knew he hadn't meant it like that. It was an offhand comment. She was, in fact, instantly mortified that she'd actually accidentally asked Launchpad to do something so intimate as examine her skin for marks; what had she been _thinking_ and why hadn't he just said he'd rather not? But... _Perfect._ She thought of it, and she felt warm.

The night was a little bit chilly, a standard for mid-September, and despite her feeling of warmth Beth shivered slightly in a breeze. It snapped her out of her revelry just in time to notice that, if she had kept walking in a straight line with her head down, she would have walked right into a man who was standing perhaps twenty feet away from her, his attention firmly focused upwards. After another quick second she realized that the man was Launchpad, and she stopped in her tracks, overcome by a reaction so strong that she wasn't sure right away exactly what emotion it was.

She decided it was some form of happiness, with a good bit of hope thrown in as well, and so she started up again. He was still looking up, but there was no harm in saying hello, right?


	5. Act II part 2

It would be so much easier if he said hello first. She slowed as she approached, hoping he would notice her and she could pretend she hadn't noticed him and act surprised when he said something, but there was no such luck. Maybe she should just keep walking...

The idea of passing someone she knew on the street, _staring_ at them, and walking right by them was so stupid and embarrassing that she took a deep breath and pushed right through her shyness. "Ha- hi!" she said, catching a little on the forced peppiness of her voice.

Launchpad started, which was embarrassing and awkward, and for the first split second that he looked at her she would swear he had no idea who she was and that was even worse. She remembered immediately why she preferred never to approach anyone. But a second later, recognition lit his entire face and he gave her a broad grin. "Hey, Beth! Long time no see!"

She laughed awkwardly, all the adrenalin that had allowed her to speak up a moment ago now draining into a kind of weak nervousness. "Heh, yeah, guess so. Um, sorry if I scared you, I just was walking home and I saw you and I thought it would be nice to say something..."

"No problemo," he said casually. That was not a phrase she heard many people say, and it made her smile. "I'm glad you did say somethin', I didn't even hear ya comin' up."

"Oh. Well good."

He looked past her, up towards the roof of the building behind her, for a moment and then back down at her. "You look different outside of Bindler's," he said thoughtfully.

"I... do?" She became self-conscious suddenly; maybe it was the lighting. "In a good way or a bad way?"

Launchpad tilted his head as if considering. "I dunno. Neither really, you just look more... I dunno, more real."

She wanted to ask again if that was good or bad, but that was the kind of question that usually drove guys up the wall (or so she'd heard), so she just smiled nervously instead. As ever, the pleasure she felt in talking to Launchpad was paired with an equally strong sense of guilt; the more she spoke to him, the more she felt like she was keeping him from something else, and she should really let him go and do the things he'd rather be doing. And yet if she didn't talk to him, the guilt didn't go away, it just mutated itself so that she felt guilty for not returning his kindness; he cared enough to talk to her and keep her company, and she was trying to ditch him for some reason. Either way, apparently, Beth was a total jerk in her own mind and since there was no winning, she just stayed where she was, felt uncomfortable, and enjoyed having someone to talk to.

Just now, he straighted up and nodded a little, as though he'd reached a decision. "I think it's in a good way," he said finally. She could feel her cheeks growing hot, and she looked at her feet; as she did, she noticed that Launchpad looked distinctly satisfied with himself somehow.

"Um, thanks," she said quietly. She wondered if she was supposed to return the compliment, decided that if she did it would sound phony, and made a mental note to herself to give him a spontaneous compliment as soon as she could work one in naturally. The conversation was lagging; she fumbled for a topic. Looking back up at him, she said, "Did you guys find the bolt you were looking for?"

Launchpad had been looking at the skyline again; as he dragged his eyes back down towards her, he said, "Huh? Oh, no, it's funny... apparently you guys are the only ones in the area who carry 'em."

Beth was surprised. "Really? Wow, there must have been a recall or something. Henny gets these deals with manufacturers to unload all their leftover stock at lower prices, see," she explained. "She's, um, she's really good at negotiations."

"I bet," Launchpad said in a low voice. Whatever he was thinking, Beth guessed it wasn't flattering, and she giggled. He winked at her, before checking out the rooftops again.

"I'm sorry, is there -" Beth began to turn around and check out whatever he was looking at, continuing, "Am I keeping you from something?"

"Oh, no way!" he said quickly, and reached for her shoulder, pulling her back to look at him. She was startled enough that she whirled back, and they stared at one another for a few seconds before both smiled sheepishly. "Sorry 'bout that," he said. "I just mean, uh, there's nothin' up there. Just... just the stars."

"Oh, you're looking at the stars?" She smiled; that was kind of romantic. Although when she looked over his head, the light pollution in St. Canard was so strong that she couldn't make out anything but streetlamps.

"Uh, kinda," he said, perhaps guessing what she was thinking. "Tryin' to, anyway." With all the speed of someone who was deliberately changing the subject, he said, "So that bolt! I think I'm gonna come in and put in a special order or somethin', if you guys think you could get any more."

"Oh, that's a good idea!" she said. An even better idea occurred to her then, an idea of the kind she rarely had: clever, subtle, and almost-but-not-quite devious. "In fact, I can put one in FOR you. But I'll do it in Mr. Mallard's name so that it'll come straight to him, since he's the one who needs the bolt."

"Hey, good thinkin'," Launchpad said, nodding.

Beth retrieved a pen and an old receipt from the pocket of her jacket, and held them at the ready. "I'll just need his phone number and full address, and I'll get this done the next time I'm at work." She looked up apologetically. "I can't get it delivered in less than five business days, though. I guess he kind of needs it sooner than that."

"Well, we'll keep lookin' around to see what comes up, but if that's the quickest we can get it, it's good enough for me." Launchpad rattled off an address and phone number, and Beth scribbled both down and shoved both paper and pen back into her pockets, feeling satisfied and even a little proud of herself. She knew that she was extremely unlikely to ever call Drake Mallard personally, but now, if she actually felt up to it, she _could_.

The fact that she'd accomplished this task lifted her spirits and made talking to Launchpad easier, somehow. "Well, I feel better now that _that's_ taken care of," she said.

"That's real nice of you to keep DW in mind that way," Launchpad offered.

"Oh, you know, customers first." Emboldened by her recent success, she asked, "So, um, is Mister - Dra- Drake... Mallard... around?" That was the most awkward sentence ever spoken aloud, she thought, and wilted inside.

"Oh, Drake is, uh, he's grocery shoppin'," Launchpad answered.

"At... at ten in the evening?"

Launchpad cleared his throat. "Uh, well, we needed a few emergency things." He looked uncertain. "And I'm just out here, uh..."

"Looking at stars," she finished for him.

"Yeah. Well, no, not just that!" Looking uncertain, he said, "I'm actually... keepin' an eye on the car, too."

"Oh! Well, gosh, that's really nice of you!" She was starting to get tired, and still had a long walk ahead of her, but the chance for a possibility of seeing Drake again was so great that she had to at least consider staying. "So, is... is Mist- is he going to be coming back soon? Do you think?"

Launchpad looked just the tiniest bit lost, and it took him a moment to answer.

* * *

"For the last time, you single-minded simpleton, it's a _grappling hook_!" Darkwing shouted, dodging another blast of lightning. Megavolt seemed beyond listening by now, however; he wasn't even ranting about robots anymore, just taking aim with that zap-gun of his and shooting bolts in all directions.

Well, two could play at that game. Darkwing pulled out his gas gun, aimed by instinct, and fired. And only _then_ remembered that it was broken, as the gun misfired and a cloud of purple gas began to leak out of the gun and surround him. He kicked it to the side, cursing everything from the gun to the bolt to that bubblehead at the hardware store who hadn't helped him at all; the gun had worked fine when he shot the grappling hook - why was there a problem now?

Megavolt's attention was somehow ensnared by Darkwing's momentary equipment failure. "Ha! If that was supposed to be intimidating, I've gotta tell you, you need to rethink your strategy!" He giggled at that, though Darkwing didn't think it was a particularly impressive taunt.

He tried bluffing in response. "All part of a plan, Sparky, but the less you know about it, the better!"

Whether Megavolt would have bought it or not would never be known, however, since he apparently stopped paying attention at the name "Sparky". "Oooooh, YOU! _DON'T_! CALL! ME! THAT!" The amount of power he was discharging went up considerably, and the rooftop began to look like it was housing a neon sign in the shape of an electrified rat.

Maybe the taunting hadn't been the best idea, Darkwing acknowledged as he hugged the edge of the rooftop, fleeing from Megavolt's blasts. He paused at the west side of the roof, sticking his arm over the side and waving it three times in what he hoped was as natural a way as possible. So, granted, this fight hadn't gone entirely as he'd envisioned it so far, but Darkwing was a master of improvisational fighting and this whole showdown could easily be salvaged. Darkwing would keep wearing him out, and meanwhile, Launchpad would be up here in just a few minutes to distract him and help take him down.

* * *

In fact, Darkwing would have been absolutely right in his expectations, if Launchpad had actually been following the plan. Instead, his sidekick's attention was increasingly focused on Beth; she kept asking stuff about Drake, and he was having more and more trouble steering the conversation away from the danger zone. Launchpad felt he was generally pretty good at not giving away anything important when it came to secret identities or that kind of thing, but Beth kept asking so _many_ questions that he was having a little trouble coming up with answers.

"What department?" she asked, cocking her head. She looked so _intent_ ; he was so fascinated by how different she was from when she was at work, how much more _alive_ she seemed, that he forgot to answer. "Launchpad? What department does Mr. Mallard work in?"

"Huh?" Shoot, another tough question.

"In his social work. Do you guys both work in the same department?"

"Oh, uh..." He coughed as a way to stall. "It's, work with, uh, whattaya call it. Troubled teens."

"Social outreach kind of thing?" Launchpad nodded; Beth's eyes were practically shining. "That's so noble!"

"Yeah," said Launchpad. "And, yeah, I work with him. For him, kinda." She didn't seem to notice; he felt the tiniest touch of disappointment at that, but decided that he needed to change the subject completely before she asked something even harder. "So... do you go out a lot?"

"Go out?" She seemed taken aback; her energy level fell noticeably. "You mean like, with... with other people?"

"Yeah," he said, surprised that he'd taken the conversation that way. Sure, he'd mentioned to DW that he'd been playing with the idea of asking her out, but he hadn't given it any thought beyond that. "Out, with people."

She gave a quick, odd laugh. "Um, no, generally speaking no I don't."

"Really? You're kiddin' me," he said, grinning. She got all fidgety and looked at her feet, rubbing her cheek a little and grinning a little, herself. "Well, maybe sometime I could -"

"You probably do a lot though, huh?" she said quickly, cutting him off.

He considered the question for a moment. "Well, kinda... Not as much as I used to, but I was thinkin' of-"

"What about Mr. Mallard?" she asked, interrupting him again. "Does he go out on a lot of dates, or... well, he's probably got a wife and everything, actually, right?"

"Who, DW? Nah, he's not married. Nothin' like that." The question had given him pause; how had they ended up on the subject of Drake _again_? It wasn't until Beth's eyes lit up as she answered that he began to understand.

"Oh... he's not married?" she said. Her voice was eager; there was no mistaking it.

So she had a thing for DW. Launchpad needed to just take a little moment to process that; he really hadn't seen that coming. It wasn't like it _mattered_ \- he didn't have his eye on her that way or anything, it was just...

Well, what was it? He wasn't sure. His interest in Beth was purely platonic, as cute as she was capable of being. She wasn't the type of girl he generally went after, but he liked flirting with her; he liked being the guy to make her smile, since he had a feeling there weren't many guys who took the time to do it. And he really _did_ like her, anyway, but that didn't have anything to do with whether or not she was interested in DW.

He was losing his touch, that was it. It wasn't that Launchpad had ever thought of himself as a real ladies' man or anything, exactly, but he'd never had any problems lining up dates either. With most girls, they at least knew when he was flirting with them; Beth was the first one who seemed genuinely ignorant of it. And it wasn't that he wanted to string her along, but he was surprised to find that they weren't on the same page here after all. Now that he thought about it, it _had_ been a while since he'd been out with a girl, even casually... There'd been lots of girls when he was younger, in Duckburg, but most of the ones he'd really liked he'd had to leave behind. Then things had started to move more quickly - he'd moved to St. Canard, taken up odd jobs, started working with DW, and dating just hadn't been a priority. It took a lot of energy, it seemed, and there weren't usually more than two or three dates, and then either he or the girl lost interest; lots of misunderstandings, or just boredom.

Beth was kind of an experiment, and also kind of an attempt to ease himself back into it; go out a few times with a friend, remember how you do it, then start working into meeting new girls and seeing what happens. And it was way better to go out with a friend you knew you liked being with than it was to just pick someone at random, right?

Except now that he thought about it, asking Beth out under those circumstances, flirting with her every time he saw her... it all felt a little dishonest. He felt like a heel. Better not to ask her out in case she took it the wrong way... He was probably lucky he hadn't already set that situation up, by mistake.

"Oh, gosh, what time is it?" Beth asked suddenly. Launchpad checked his watch - it was twenty past ten - then showed it to her. "WOW, is it really that late? I'm sorry to keep you - I should have -"

"Hey, I'm the one who's waitin' here, remember?" he interrupted, chuckling. "Calm down. It's more like I'm the one keepin' you."

She half-smiled. "It's not like that at all," she said; it was hard to tell if she was talking to him, or to herself, but she relaxed a little. "Well, I should go. I'm starving, and I have a long walk ahead of me."

Something in that sentence made him uneasy, but Launchpad tried not to show it. "Then go get somethin' to eat, an' I'll see ya later. Thanks for sayin' hi."

"Thanks for... answering," she said feebly. Her smile was distinctly nervous now, and she started past him down the sidewalk. "I'll see you. Um, probably. Right?"

"Yeah," he said, a little distractedly. It hit him belatedly what was bothering him about what she'd said. A long walk home... "How long is long?" he asked as she was walking away.

"What?" She turned back to him, and when he repeated the question, she blinked and then understood. "Oh - home? Um, about twenty minutes. So it's really not that bad, I'm just hungry, and you know how it is when you really want to _be_ somewhere, right?"

"Yeah, but..." The direction she was headed in one a bad one. Launchpad had a pretty good sense of the better and worse parts of the city, and another half mile or so that way was definitely one of the worse. "Are you - you're just gonna walk?"

Beth cocked her head. "Well, yeah." She caught on a moment later, and fished through her handbag. "Oh! Oh, it's okay. I walk home all the time. I-" She paused, rummaging, then came up with a little spray can. "I have pepper spray." It had taken her a long time to find it, tucked away in her handbag. Her incredibly conspicuous handbag.

Launchpad had a sudden, vivid mental picture of Beth getting mugged. It was a horrible picture. His stomach twisted a little. "Look, I'm gonna..." He stopped. What was he going to do? Walk her home? That wasn't an option right now. With that thought as a trigger to remind him, he looked up briefly at the rooftop, then back down to Beth. He could _not_ let this woman walk home alone.

She was watching him quizzically. A moment later the proverbial lightbulb went off over his head, and he dug into his pocket. "Okay. I think I got enough for a cab."

Beth came rushing back towards him, shaking her head and her hands. "Oh no, oh gosh, no no no. Please don't."

"Yeah. I'm insistin'."

"No! I can't take-" He stopped her, and forced the money into her hands. She held onto it but frowned. "I-I can afford a cab myself," she said quietly.

"Okay. Then you can pay me back later." She started to argue again, and he cut her off. "C'mon. Do me a favour, Beth." He grinned, what he hoped was appealingly, and she softened. A huge weight lifted off his chest when she nodded her consent. "Great. No rush on payin' me back, either. I'll see ya real soon."

Beth dropped her hands, cupping the money he'd just given her, and gave that half-smile again. "I'll have the money for you then." She took a step backwards, turned to go, and then turned back. "Um... Thanks."

"No problemo!"

She turned again, took two more steps, and then turned back beseechingly. "Tell Mr. Mallard 'hi' for me?"

Launchpad smiled and nodded, and what he felt was oddly melancholy. "Will do." Beth waved, and he waved back, and then she was halfway down the block, and then she had turned a corner.

He did wish he could have walked her home. But he was technically on the job, and there was DW's plan to consider... His eyes widened. "Uh-oh." Launchpad turned his head up to the rooftop, in time to see Darkwing hanging half over the edge, waving both arms frantically.

"LAUNCHPAAAAD!" he yelled. Then he disappeared - apparently pulled backwards - and there was quite a lot of light.

" _Uh-oh,_ " Launchpad repeated, and raced across the street.

When he arrived at the building, he wasn't actually quite sure how he was supposed to reach the top. Was he supposed to climb up the same way DW had gone? That didn't seem right - he didn't recall that being the arrangement - and anyway, he didn't seem to be able to find the rope from the hook. He looked around for a fire escape, didn't see anything that looked likely, and as a last resort tried the doors to the building.

Miraculously, they were open; the elevator, on the other hand, was not running and Launchpad's luck was out. He looked around frantically, found the emergency staircase, and took them two at a time up to the roof.

He was almost expecting the door to the roof to be locked - that seemed like it was the way things were - but the knob turned easily in his hand. He looked at it in surprise and realized that the lock had been melted - which explained why the front doors were open, as well.

DW had specified no stealth; Launchpad's job was supposed to be to distract, so he kicked the door open and made as big an entrance as he could. "That's enough outta you, you big bully!" he said, which had sounded better in his head.

Megavolt looked up, an expression of surprise momentarily covering his features, and then he sighed raggedly. "Great, now there's two of 'em!" he exclaimed. He backed away from a pile of rags that was lying in the corner of the rooftop, and quickly swept a large pile of... _something_ into a bag. "You guys'll have to excuse me, I think I've had enough fun for one night! But come back tomorrow... It'll be a blast!" He laughed, hefted the bag over one shoulder, and stepped up onto the edge of the roof.

Launchpad paused, realizing Megavolt was about to escape... but shouldn't DW be stepping in to stop him any time now? He didn't see any sign of Darkwing, so it looked like it was up to him after all. He was trying to figure out a good course of action, when his eye fell on the pile of rags again. That was when he realized the pile was breathing, and it was purple, and actually it wasn't a pile of rags at all.

"DW?" he asked, blinking. Megavolt took advantage of the moment of inaction and stepped over the side of the roof, noticing as he did that he was several stories off the ground. He made an interesting, albeit brief, noise on the way down which Launchpad failed to take notice of as he rushed to Darkwing's side. "DW! You okay?"

The rag pile/vigilante groaned in response. "Just... peachy," he managed.

Launchpad took Darkwing's hat off and fanned him with it. It was the only thing he could think of to do.

Darkwing, meanwhile, started to straighten himself out. His clothes were a little charred, but he was beginning to look lifelike again. He popped a few joints, rotated his limbs, and stood up. Launchpad put the hat down and started trying to brush the char marks off of Darkwing's costume. Darkwing swatted his hands away. "Leave it... It needs to be... drycleaned."

"I'm real sorry, DW," Launchpad began.

"Tell me... something," Darkwing said in a weak voice. Launchpad bent closer to hear him. "Tell me... something good. Like that you... couldn't get here on time... because you were saving someone's... kittens."

"Well," said Launchpad, laughing nervously, "it's a funny story. See, I ran into Beth, and-"

"Who?" Darkwing, now at least able to stand up under his own power, looked genuinely at a loss.

"Y'know. Beth. Cute girl from the hardware store."

Darkwing didn't say anything for a moment or two; he just gave Launchpad a long look. Then he said, "Ah. Beth. I see. I see." He took his hat off, held it in his hands for a moment as if considering it, and then used it to whack Launchpad on the head. Launchpad flinched, even though it didn't hurt. "You left me up here to be fried because you were chatting up a girl!"

"No, it's good news! See, she's gonna put in a special order for that last bolt we couldn't find!"

Darkwing didn't look appeased. "Perfect! So now I have to go back in and talk to her again, when the best thing I could ask for is to have her out of my life completely!"

Launchpad frowned; that was a little harsh, and it was made even worse when he thought about Beth's face when she was asking about DW. "You don't really mean that. You'll like her more when you're not-"

"Not what? Not fried to a crisp because she was hogging your attention? Not without my main piece of equipment because she _gave away_ all the hardware I need... to a dangerous criminal? Not _awake_?" He snorted, and put his hat back on his head. "Next time you want to make time with your girlfriend, LP, do it when you're not on the clock. Now c'mon, let's get down to the street and see if we can catch up with Megavolt."

Launchpad found, to his discomfort, that he was blushing. "Aw, c'mon. She's not my _girl_ friend." Darkwing didn't answer, but he snorted again.

Most of Darkwing's weight did need to be supported, and it took them a while to get down all the stairs. By the time they made it, the streets were empty.

* * *

"Launchpad?"

Beth had made it about a block or so from Launchpad and had spent a few minutes looking for a cab, and had spent the entire time convincing herself that she was way out of line in taking Launchpad's money. She had become certain that she was presenting herself in a false light, somehow, even though she wasn't sure how exactly she'd done that; it was dishonest, in the end, and so even though she really wanted more than anything else to be at home, she'd turned around and gone back the way she'd come.

But Launchpad wasn't there anymore. Just to be totally sure that she wasn't just on the wrong street, she'd circled around a few blocks, but there was no sign of him. Her heart fell; she'd missed not only him, but Drake Mallard as well, apparently.

Or maybe he'd just taken the opportunity to ensure that he didn't run into her again, by ducking into a store or...

No. Launchpad came in to see her every week; he wasn't that kind of person. At least, she thought, not yet.

She gave it one last shot. "Launchpad? Are you still here? Launchpad?"

A voice snapped back down at her. "Keep it down over there! Some of us are trying to count!"

Beth gasped and looked around, trying to figure out what window the voice had come from. "Sorry," she said, but it came out as a mumble that couldn't possibly have been audible to the person she'd unintentionally annoyed. Well, better that way. She didn't want to interrupt his counting again.

Now she was stuck, and it was something close to 11 pm, and she hadn't had anything to eat since lunch, and she was tired, and she felt like crying. Maybe she should just go ahead and use Launchpad's money for a cab after all; if he was already gone, whether she used it or not it was all about the same at this point.

She took another step, and kicked a small object into the side of a nearby building. It clinked loudly. The 'clink' was just enough to catch her attention without it really entering her mind; she was still pondering what she should do as she approached the side of the building and peered down at whatever it was she had kicked.

It was a familiar object, a part of her daily routine: a bolt, about a quarter-inch in diameter, and until she noticed the funny little bend in the middle she didn't even take much notice of it.

Then her breath caught. "Is that a...?" She straightened, looked around almost guiltily, and then stooped to pick the bolt up. It was what it had seemed to be: a double-plait bolt. To be specific, a 4-1/4 double-plait bolt, the very kind that Drake Mallard had asked for.

She rolled the little piece of hardware between her thumb and forefinger, staring at it wonderingly. This _had_ to be a set-up. Maybe she was on Candid Camera. She looked around for any sign at all of a television camera, then realized how ludicrous that was, because this related to something out of her personal life and not some weird set-up on the street.

But still, it was too perfect. How could this have happened? "Is this real?" she asked out loud. Her voice made her wonder if anyone was nearby watching. Louder, she said, "Hey, did anyone lose a double-plait bolt?"

Having said that, she felt stupid. There was no one around - no one except the anonymous counter, that was - and it wasn't like it was a wallet. It was a _bolt_. It meant pretty much nothing to anyone in the world... except for her.

"Maybe this is a sign," she said to herself. Despite herself, she smiled, falteringly. "Maybe... Maybe this is the start of something really big, something really _special_ for me. Maybe..." She stared upwards, towards the stars that Launchpad had so recently been admiring, and thought for the first time that she could see the patterns hiding in them. Perhaps if she looked for long enough, she'd see the face of the man she would marry.

She thought, for the first time in her life, that she might know what that face looked like.

She was a few feet down the street, distractedly heading towards home, when she heard a very heavy thump behind her. She looked over her shoulder, but saw nothing; a noise like that could have been anything, right? A cat, or... Or...

Well, it almost certainly could be something else. But at the same time, she was suddenly very aware that she was out on the street, by herself, at close to 11 pm. And she had been calling out, drawing attention to herself.

A cab slid down the street, heading towards her, and she made her mind up very suddenly to use that cab money. She would pay Launchpad back tomorrow. It was worth it just to get home quickly, eat a light dinner, and jump into bed. She hailed the cab and got inside it, pretending that she wasn't hurrying.

* * *

R

After a very painful landing, Megavolt had retreated to a quieter place so that he could count his bag of bolts one last time, as if this time something would be different. Midway through the climb to the roof of the latest building he'd selected as his little nest - there were no good lighthouses or electrical towers around here, which was a loss he might try someday to correct - he thought to question why, exactly, he was making himself _climb_ when every muscle in his body was recovering from that last fall.

But the height of the building helped him recover his sense of purpose, and soon he was about halfway through the pile. And he had a good feeling about this count; this time, he thought, it might even have two or three _extra_ bolts.

A voice picked at the fringe of his consciousness, distracting him. Some girl down on the sidewalk, yelling to someone. "Keep it down over there! Some of us are trying to count!" he yelled back, and the calling stopped abruptly. He immediately wished he hadn't made a noise; if Darkwing was out there looking for him, he might as well have just put up a big sign announcing his whereabouts. "Wow," he said, more quietly, "wish I could take _that_ back. Oh, well... Four-hundred-ninety-seven... Four-hundred-ninety-eighhhhtttt..."

He stopped, realizing what was about to happen. He needed two more; there were not two more in the pile. There was one.

"After EVERYTHING I just went through!" Megavolt said, smacking his forehead and consequently whacking his goggles against his face. Below, the voice had started up again, more quietly this time; this was the only thing that reminded him not to yell in frustration.

Instead, he pushed all the stupid little bolts back into their bag and thought very seriously about dumping them all into the trash and starting over with a new plan. This one no longer seemed as cool as it had before. He hefted the bag up and peered over the side of the roof, down at the person speaking; if Darkwing wasn't in sight, maybe he could take out some of his frustration on some harmless bystander. That could work.

It was a girl; a vaguely familiar girl who was beanpole-thin and wore glasses. She was holding something cupped in her hand - maybe a bug of some kind - and Megavolt considered just aiming a few little zaps at her and seeing what she did.

"Hey," the girl said, looking around at the street, "did anyone lose a double-plait bolt?" Megavolt, aiming his fingers like a gun at her ponytail, didn't take any notice until he was about to let a zap fire. Then he caught himself suddenly; _double-plait bolt?_

He remembered, unusually, where he knew her from: that hardware store! The girl who hadn't given him all the bolts he'd needed! And now she was about to walk off with the ONE that was rightfully his, that he'd probably dropped himself a few hours ago! That was just plain dishonest.

The girl was already walking down the street. Megavolt realized he had to follow her and get that bolt back; the whole plan, the perfect plan, could still be salvaged if he _just got that bolt_. He started to hoist his legs over the side of the roof, then stopped, and laughed at himself.

"What am I _thinking?_ " he said, chuckling. "Boy, would my face have been red!" He went back, grabbed the bag of bolts, and then jumped over the side of the building.

The first time hurt a little more, but he was unconscious for longer this time. When he woke up, the girl was gone.


	6. Act II part 3

The month of September was not generally among Gosalyn Mallard's favourite months, for various reasons, but it did have a few things going for it. Baseball and soccer were both in full season, which was a plus since it meant there was usually _something_ on TV, and even the obvious downside - returning to school - was a little offset by getting to catch up with some friends who you usually lost touch with over the summer.

But the high point of September was, in Gosalyn's opinion, the somewhat sparse school schedule, at least compared to later in the year. At least they had the decency to ease you back into it, what with the holidays and the half days and the staff meetings and the Teacher's Days.

Gosalyn was enjoying a Teacher's Holiday at this moment, with every fiber of her being, because the next day she'd be back suffering in school and she intended to make this freebie day count. At 7:45 there wasn't a whole lot to do yet, but there was nothing wrong with getting some of her TV watching out of the way early in the day.

When the doorbell rang, Gosalyn was so thrown off by it at first that she didn't even recognize the sound. She had to mute the television and wait for it to come again, and even then she was hesitant to check at the door to see what was going on. It _was_ a Teacher's Day, right? And it was early in the morning, not the standard time a person generally got visitors. She did a quick run-through in her mind over who it could be: Honker, Morgana, the police... None seemed that likely.

She opened the door halfway, somewhat suspicious, and peered outside. No one was out there that she recognized; there was just a woman on the doorstep, kind of tall and skinny, with glasses almost as big as Honker's. Gosalyn relaxed a little and opened the door the rest of the way. "Can I help you?" she asked carefully. The woman looked like a librarian or something; she might be a truant officer in disguise. Even though Gosalyn was 88 sure that there was no school that day, she had to play it safe. She held a death grip on the door, ready to slam and barricade it if need be.

The woman looked perplexed, and didn't answer for a moment. Then she looked at the outside of the house, as if she didn't know where she was. Sure enough, a moment later she turned back to Gosalyn and said, "I'm... I'm sorry, I think I must have the wrong house." She checked a piece of paper that she had been crumpling into a little ball, and then looked back up. "Is this... 537 Avian Way?"

"Sure is," said Gosalyn.

The woman's brow creased. "Five- _three_ -seven?" she repeated.

"Sounds right," answered Gosalyn as helpfully as possible.

" _Avian_ Way?"

"Is this a trick question?" Gosalyn asked. The librarian-woman looked as if she was about to say something, but had decided against it at the last minute; her mouth hung slightly open, and she looked confused. Gosalyn sighed. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure this is still Avian Way, unless they changed the maps."

"Oh," said the woman. She checked her piece of paper again, then squared her shoulders. "Does... does Drake Mallard live here?"

"Um... maybe," Gosalyn answered, stalling for time. "Just out of curiosity, are you at all familiar with the county school calendars?"

"Huh?" The expression on the woman's face was too surprised to be fake.

Gosalyn relaxed, satisfied that she wasn't about to be dragged to school. "C'mon in, I guess. I'll get Dad."

"Dad...?" asked the woman in a weak voice. She looked shaken, but stepped into the house and closed the door behind herself. Gosalyn gave her a sidelong look; now she looked more like a schoolteacher on her very first day. She decided it might be best to get a little background information. "Are you selling something? 'Cause technically, I'm not supposed to negotiate with door-to-door salespeople, but..." She lowered her voice, in case her father was listening. "If you've got any free demonstrations, I'm all for 'em." She was a big fan of the demonstrations, especially if they involved pouring dirt over the carpet or stuff like that. So far, no one had ever come selling knives, but Gosalyn still held out hopes that someone would come and would demonstrate the sharpness of his knives by throwing them, preferably at a living target.

The librarian/school teacher didn't have any obvious wares, though - no vacuum cleaners or knives, just one solitary bag and it didn't look like it was packed with Miracle Kleen or anything like that. "Well," said the woman, digging through the bag - Gosalyn's hopes momentarily soared - "I do _kind_ of have... where is it..."

She came back up holding a small piece of twisted metal, and Gosalyn felt cheated. "What's that?"

"It's a bolt he ordered. Well, kind of ordered - it was really ordered for him, or rather - well..." The woman had been starting to speak more quickly, but after correcting herself twice she sort of reined herself in and smiled a little. "It doesn't matter. Is your - your father nearby?"

"Just a sec," Gosalyn assured her. She stood at the bottom of the staircase, gripping the end of the banister, and took a deep breath. "DAAAAAD!" The woman took a quick step backwards, towards the front door.

It took her father a moment to respond. When he did answer, it came in kind. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT TIME IT IS?"

"IT'S NOT THAT EARLY, DAD!" To the woman, Gosalyn said, "He can be a real baby about this."

The librarian woman looked stricken. "Please tell me he wasn't asleep!"

Gosalyn didn't get a chance to answer, since her father called down, "WHAT IS IT?"

The woman was waving her hands. Gosalyn chose to ignore her; no point in turning back now. "SOMEONE TO SEE YOU!"

"WHO?"

In a whisper, Gosalyn asked the visitor, "What'd you say your name was?" The woman shook her head vehemently. With a shrug, Gosalyn called up the stairs, "I DUNNO, SOME WOMAN!" The woman in question put her hands to her mouth and looked terrified. Gosalyn added on impulse, "SHE'S CUTE!"

There was a pause. Gosalyn glanced at the visitor, who looked like she had forgotten to breathe for some time now, and then her father called, "I'LL BE DOWN IN A MINUTE."

"There ya go!" Gosalyn said cheerfully. The woman looked weak, like she might faint, which reminded Gosalyn that she probably should offer her a seat or something. "Wanna sit down to wait?"

The woman wandered over to the couch and sank slowly onto the cushions. "Why did you tell him I was cute?" she asked in a trembling voice.

Gosalyn shrugged. "Gets him downstairs more quickly." She sat down as well, her curiosity piqued by the visitor.

The woman blew out a breath, then inhaled deeply. She took off her glasses and wiped them with her sleeve, replaced them, and peered at Gosalyn for a moment. Then she raised an eyebrow, and for the first time looked slightly more at ease. With an air of slight amusement, she said, "Shouldn't you be in school?"

"It's a Teacher Day," Gosalyn said hastily. The woman didn't show any signs of knowing what that meant, so Gosalyn added, "Y'know - they have meetings and stuff. No students allowed."

"Ohhh," said the woman. "We didn't have those at my school. Lucky you, I guess?"

"No _fooling_ ," agreed Gosalyn, though she got the feeling that the woman was more like Honker, and would have spent the day dreaming of being in classes. "I got a whole extra day to do whatever I want."

"So what are you going to do?"

This wasn't the first time Gosalyn had heard the question. Unfortunately she had yet to work out an answer. "I dunno. Maybe just get reacquainted with my old friend television."

The woman made a face that reminded her of the one her father had made when she'd told him the same thing. Adults were weird, Gosalyn thought. "Well," said the woman, turning a quick glance toward the staircase and apparently trying to look like she wasn't doing just that, "my name's Beth. Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you too," Gosalyn said courteously, although so far she wasn't sure what she thought of Beth. "I'm Gosalyn."

Beth nodded slowly, and the look she gave Gosalyn was so intent and examining that it made the young girl a little nervous. "And Drake is your father."

It occurred to Gosalyn that Beth seemed to need everything repeated to her three times before it sank in. Rather than giving an answer that spelled everything out, she said, "More or less." It was truer than just saying yes, and besides, as slightly mean as it was, the resulting look of confusion that crossed Beth's face was pretty funny.

Beth found that she liked this girl. This wasn't such a huge surprise; she liked children in general and usually found that they made her much less nervous than adults, despite having almost unilaterally negative experiences with other children during her own youth. The past few years had taught her that, as much as children might be dishonest with one another, they were usually pretty straightforward with adults, and that put her at ease. Beth liked to know she could trust the people she was talking to.

The only problem was, where had this kid _come_ from? Launchpad hadn't mentioned a daughter; in fact, he'd outright said that Drake Mallard was _not_ married. Not that one had to be married to have children, but... he hadn't seemed the type to do otherwise. A former marriage? A death in the family? A long-term relationship, or a reminder of a wild youth? Gosalyn had definitely verified that Drake was her father, and Beth had no idea how to fit that into her schema.

And why hadn't Launchpad mentioned this? Maybe he just didn't know - though that seemed unlikely, under the few circumstances Beth knew about their lives.

Well... Nothing else to do now except soldier on. After throwing another look at the staircase, Beth cleared her throat. "So, well, what kinds of things do you do in your spare time? Do you like sports?" She gestured at Gosalyn's shirt, half-answering her own question.

" _Do_ I? Hey, do birds bird? Do bees bee?"

Beth, her chin in her hand, blinked and then smiled. "Does that mean 'yes'?"

From the top of the stairs, a voice came that made her heart leap in her chest. "Sorry to keep everyone waiting, I just had to..." The footsteps that were hurrying down the stairs slowed and momentarily stopped. "Oh. It's you." A moment later the footsteps started again, though not nearly so quickly.

Beth stood up and smiled, wishing her cheeks didn't feel so tight. She wanted to look composed and professional, and she was pretty sure she was only managing neurotic and jumpy. But at least he'd recognized her! That was good, right? "Mr. Mallard! Um, good morning, I - I'm sorry for the intrusion this early..."

She looked at him carefully as he came the rest of the way down the stairs. Although she'd thought the day before that she'd burned his features into her mind, she found that that was hardly the case. She'd forgotten little things, like the blue of his eyes and the worry lines in his forehead. She also hadn't remembered him being so short; looking at him now, she realized she was taller than he was. She thought he probably would only hit around her chin. Rather than finding this a turn-off, however, it struck her as rather cute. A different kind of grin plastered itself over her face and she couldn't get rid of it, no matter how she tried to straighten her expression out.

Drake Mallard did not look as forgiving of the early hour as she'd hoped he would. He crossed his arms as he came to a stop in front of her, and now that he was close enough she could see that he was noticeably bleary-eyed. "So it is early where you come from," he said. She couldn't decide if his tone was sarcastic or just a form of very tired humour.

"Yes, I..." She fumbled in her purse for the bolt, and couldn't find it. Well, she could stall - make some small talk or something, right? "I, I like to get up early, don't you? I mean, well, I guess not..." His expression was distinctly sour. "There's nothing wrong with sleeping in, of course! That's nice too. I just thought you might, you know, be going to work early and I wanted to catch you."

"Ohhh, _that_ explains it," he said in a sing-song tone. That was sarcasm, she was sure. A cold feeling started creeping up her body, starting in her feet and slowly spreading up her legs.

She swallowed. "Well - I -" _Where_ was that bolt? He was eyeing her as if she might be searching for a weapon. She laughed. "You know, your daughter is charming," she said lamely. It wasn't in her bag, was it? Good lord, she _had_ brought it, hadn't she? Had she actually shown it to Gosalyn, or just told her about it?

"Gos," Drake Mallard said to his daughter, "I _have_ explained to you about little girls who let strangers into the house and fathers who wake up to find everyone tied up in the basement, right?"

Gosalyn was watching them both over the back of the couch, and she rolled her eyes. "C'mon Dad, I'm not _that_ bad a judge of character."

Beth's face felt hot, and the rest of her felt cold. No bolt. How was she going to be able to explain this...? With a tongue that felt made of lead, she started, "Mr. Mallard, I..." Then it hit her: the bolt wasn't in her purse anymore. After showing it to Gosalyn, she'd stuck it back in her pocket. Relief shot through her like light; she felt nearly dizzy with it. She felt the grin spread across her face again as she stuck her hand into her pocket and touched the little piece of metal. "I have something very important for you!" she blurted, almost triumphantly.

Drake raised an eyebrow and started to answer, but another voice spoke over his.

"Hey! Beth!"

Beth looked to the top of the stairs to see Launchpad, who shot her a little wave and started down to join Drake and herself. She stared, surprised out of remembering what she was doing, and returned the wave in a kind of stunned silence.

"Didn't expect to see ya here so soon!" he said happily as he hit the landing, and then added, "We gotta stop meetin' like this." This was punctuated by a wink, which it took Beth a moment to process.

"Oh. Yeah... guess so," she said.

Drake gave Launchpad a look that was unmistakably an accusatory glare. "'Didn't expect' her 'so soon'?" he quoted, and frowned. "Well, that clears up the mystery of how a shopgirl got my address."

"Mr. Mallard-"

He held up a hand, cutting her off. "Whatever it is you've come here to discuss, why don't you take it up with my good friend Launchpad? I believe you two have met." He swept his hand to the side, indicating the pilot, who looked a little lost. "When you two are done, give me the Cliffs Notes version and I'll let you know what I think. Until then, I'm on a coffee break." With that, he brushed past her and disappeared through a door which Beth assumed led to the kitchen.

Her eyes met Launchpad's. "Oh. That didn't go well."

"Actually, all things considered, that was pretty good!" Gosalyn said from the couch. She was resting her head on her arms, which were folded in front of her. "Launchpad, remember the time he threw the paper boy's bag of newspapers in the fireplace?"

"Oh yeah!" To Beth, Launchpad said, "He thought he was bein' double-billed. There wasn't a fire goin' or anything, it was just for effect."

"Oh," said Beth vaguely. In truth, this barely registered; her mind was on the living arrangements, which she couldn't seem to figure out.

Gosalyn asked, "Why didn't you just give him the bolt?"

"Oh, you got the bolt already?" Launchpad stuck in.

Beth's attention turned from inward, to focus on him. "Well, yeah... I mean, I found one, basically, and I thought I'd stop by, but..." She felt unhappy, to the core of her being. "I just couldn't seem to get to the point. And," she finished in a low voice, "I don't think he likes me."

Launchpad was immediately sympathetic. "Oh, no, Drake's just kinda cranky in the mornings! Before he has his coffee, y'know."

Beth gave a short nod, though she didn't find the excuse very convincing. Gosalyn had turned back in her seat and was facing the TV again. To Launchpad, Beth said, "So... you live here, too?"

"Oh yeah, didn't I tell ya?" She shook her head. "Boy, sorry. My head musta been somewhere else last night. Yep, home sweet home!"

"Oh. I didn't wake you up too, did I?" Up close, he had the same somewhat bleary look as Drake had, which made her uncomfortable.

Unlike Drake, however, Launchpad didn't seem to mind. "Aw, it's not that early. 'Sides, I coulda gone back to sleep, but it sounded more interesting down here."

"Oh," she said again. She couldn't manage to make herself return Launchpad's cheerful demeanour; she kept thinking of the look on Drake's face while she was speaking. It was the kind of look that made her entire upper body go tense, the look that said that she was entirely without value and nothing she said could change that. No changing who you were, she supposed; in any case, it didn't seem to matter now. Returning her attention to Launchpad, she said, "Well, you... you have a lovely home."

Launchpad looked around, and chuckled. "Yeah, it's nice, but it's not really mine. Alla this is Drake's; I just crash here."

"...Really?"

"Yep! I mean, we all moved in at the same time an' stuff, but I'm not on the lease or anythin'."

Beth cocked her head to the side, considering. "So... he's just... letting you stay here?"

"Pretty much. Seemed like a good idea 'cause we work together, an' I got no other place to go."

"Gosh. That's very kind of him." Once the words had come out she realized that she sounded like a fawning schoolgirl, but she couldn't take them back.

"I guess so," said Launchpad, looking around the room as though, after all the time he'd been living there, he still wasn't quite sure what the place looked like. "It's probably real convenient to Drake, too, since I can help watch Gos and stuff like that. Ya can't leave her alone for more than a couple hours." He grinned fondly.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" asked Gosalyn, twisting around to look at them over the couch. "I am _extremely_ independent, you know!"

"Isn't that what your Dad is always sayin' is the problem?" Gosalyn rolled her eyes and turned her back on him in a huff, which Beth recognized as fake. She had to smile a little over that. "Anyway, yeah, it works out pretty well. This is a nice neighbourhood, an' like ya said, it's a pretty house."

"It really is," Beth said, looking around absently. It was nothing like the small one-level place she called home; even the sunshine seemed brighter and happier. She looked at the door to the kitchen, and sighed. "Do you... do you think he's going to come back out any time soon?"

"I dunno. Do ya have to be someplace?" asked Launchpad.

She shook her head. "No, I just... I mean... if he wants me to leave, then I should..."

"Don't worry about it."

"I probably should have called first," she said worriedly, "but I'm just no good on the phone..."

"You just gotta relax. Stop gettin' all nervous an' things'll go fine."

"But I'm _always_ nervous," she said, almost plaintively, and then couldn't help but laugh at herself. Launchpad joined her. "I _am_ though!"

"Okay, then don't be _as_ nervous!"

"Y'know what," said Gosalyn suddenly, "howabout I go check on Dad?" She jumped to her feet and disappeared into the kitchen.

* * *

Drake leaned against the sink and nursed his second cup of coffee. When the door opened, he looked up sharply, then relaxed when he saw it was his daughter.

"Is she gone?"

"If you mean Marion the Librarian," Gosalyn said, "she's still here. Launchpad's being cute with her. I had to leave."

Drake made a face. "Doesn't that drive you up the wall?"

Gosalyn shrugged. "Not any more than it does when you and Morgana start up."

"Hey!" Drake stared into his coffee mug, trying to discern how much longer he could make it last.

"She's not so bad, Dad," Gosalyn said in a lecturing tone. "She's kind of twitchy, but she seems nice." She pulled a carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator and opened it; Drake reflexively took it from her, placed it on the counter, and handed her a glass. She took it without comment. "But I am pretty sure she's waiting for you to come back out there."

Drake slumped. "You think if I slip out the back window, she'd get the hint?"

Gosalyn rolled her eyes as she took a big swallow of orange juice, then said, "Geez, Dad. Just come out, talk to her, and get it over with!"

"Pfft. Fine." He finished off his coffee and made for the door. As Gosalyn followed him, he turned to face her just before they left the room. "But I _know_ I've told you before about letting strangers into the house. Don't think I'm just going to let this go."

"Oh come on, she's totally harmless!"

He shook his head, and the finger he was pointing at her. "That's not the point this time! She could have been a mass murderer, you know! They look just like everyone else! I think it's time we started reconsidering whether or not you're old enough to stay by yourself on the nights when I'm out."

Gosalyn stopped, and looked at him with her mouth hanging open. "You're kidding."

"Dead serious." He turned back towards the door, and Gosalyn stepped in front of him.

"Are you just saying this to get back at me for letting someone you don't like in the house? Because that's not cool."

"I'm saying this because I'm your father," he said, deftly side-stepping the question and feeling more than a little annoyed that she'd picked up on that. "And I'm responsible for your safety." He pushed past her, and stepped into the living room, using his conversation with her as an excuse to keep from immediately addressing Beth. "I think it's time we started looking for-"

" _No_ Dad! Don't say it!" Gosalyn exclaimed, her eyes wide and pleading. She went so far as to hold both hands out to him, clasped in front of her chest.

"-A babysitter," he finished, and Gosalyn groaned loudly. "Since you seem to need a refresher course in certain basic concepts of home security."

"I'm - I'm sorry," said Beth Webfoot from behind him. She stood next to Launchpad, looking uncertain. "I don't want to intrude..."

Good. Drake had been afraid she wouldn't take the hint. He started gently inching towards her with the intention of getting her to back up towards the door. It worked amazingly well; apparently she was easily herded. "Well, sorry you had to come all this way for nothing, you know how kids are, maybe LP can stop by in a few days to see what it was you wanted, don't forget your bag! Take care now." He finished with a little wave.

Beth looked overwhelmed, but after a moment she shook her head. "As long as I'm here - this will only take a minute, and I might as well just-" She reached into her bag again, and Drake was just about to see if pushing her out the door would be necessary when recognition lit her features and she went for her pocket instead. A moment later she brought her hand out, holding a little object that he recognized after a second as a bolt.

She smiled, and when he didn't say anything for a space, she clarified. "It's a double-plait bolt! Four-and-a-quarter, isn't that the one you needed?"

Drake looked at Launchpad to be sure. His sidekick nodded. To Beth, Drake said, "Well... yes, actually." He noticed that he sounded surprised. For that matter, he noted a moment later, he _was_ surprised. She'd actually done something helpful? "Uh, well, I guess I owe you..." He trailed off; the price of the bolt had never been discussed. "What _do_ I owe you?"

Still smiling - now a smile wide enough that she her face seemed to threaten to split in two - Beth said, "No charge. I mean, the boxes are like 1.99 for a box of twenty-four, plus tax and all so I guess I _could_ charge you nine cents for the one but really, what would be the point when I can pretty easily cover that myself? Oh, Launchpad, don't let me leave without paying you back!" she said, turning swiftly to face her biggest fan, and then whipped back around to smile again at Drake before Launchpad could answer her. "Anyway you said you only needed one, right? I-I could get you more but it would take a little longer because -"

"This is fine," Drake interrupted her, sensing that he would have to do that before she'd stop speaking. The constant stream of chatter was still annoying, but now that he was looking at the bolt that would fix his biggest current problem, it was a lot less annoying than it had been a few minutes ago. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if maybe he'd misjudged her. "This is actually very, very useful," he said, still sounding surprised.

Beth managed to grin even more widely, and again she spun around quickly to grin at Launchpad, who was standing behind her.

Well, misjudged or not, the bolt was still just a start to the morning. He needed to get rid of her before he could repair the gun, or go after Megavolt, or any of the things he'd need to do today; and at the moment she was acting more like she was being invited to stay for tea than like a clerk who had completed an errand.

Drake cleared his throat. "Well, once again, thanks for stopping by and maybe we'll see you again at the store." He didn't try the herding trick, in the hopes that she'd remove herself this time, but he did keep it in mind just in case.

She hesitated, then started towards the door, which was good; then she paused and turned back, which was less good. "You know, I - I really do hate to intrude, but um, were you just saying something about needing a - a babysitter?" She looked back at him, and her eyes were very wide behind those huge glasses. Drake felt himself freeze, just a little, and a tiny voice at the back of his head seemed to start to tell him to do the herding trick and do it _now_. Instead he let her continue: "B-because, you know, _I_..." She stopped again, just for a moment, as if waiting for him to cut her off. For some reason, he didn't, and she continued in an almost perplexed tone, "I mean - I have experience. In babysitting, I mean."

Silence met this statement, as everyone waited to see what Drake's response would be.

The entire reason that Beth's sentence had dissolved the way it had was because she was a helplessly bad liar. In fact, the claim was almost entirely untrue. Aside from being the middle child in a family of five, she had no experience caring for children whatsoever; the statement had been made out of desperation, as she began to realize that she had to leave just as she was starting to finally make a good impression, and she might never get another chance to cement that impression. Although Beth had never been trained in the selling school of "getting your foot in the door", she was essentially doing just that.

It wasn't like her to lie, and it was even less like her to draw attention to herself in this way, but there was a buzzing in her head and the words had seemed to come out almost automatically. It felt to her as if her life somehow depended on being allowed into Drake Mallard's world.

His pause lasted long enough for her to be sure that he had actually considered it, rather than just reacting on instinct; that was another good sign. Even when he said, "Ahhh, I don't think so," Beth didn't give up hope. Behind him, his daughter Gosalyn let out an exaggeratedly large breath of relief, which caught his attention; Drake raised an eyebrow and looked vaguely in her direction, and Beth hoped she was reading his expression accurately.

Swallowing hard, she said quickly, "You're about ten, right Gosalyn? Ten or eleven?"

"Too old for a babysitter, anyway!" Gosalyn said, and then added, "No offense."

Beth didn't take any, since her attention was mostly on Drake. "She's got to be a handful. Wants her autonomy, full of ideas, and you can see in her eyes how smart she is."

He looked pleased, but only said, "Yeah. And if she did her homework more often, maybe you'd be able to see it in her grades, too."

Gosalyn, seating herself in front of the TV again, said, "I'm saving it all up for med school."

Beth would have laughed out loud, but Drake was right there, and she'd never felt comfortable laughing in front of other people. She covered her bill with her hand for a moment instead, then cleared her throat. She had no idea what more she could say, though; talking about Gosalyn, although it was all sincere, hadn't given her the openings she'd hoped for. Drake still seemed reluctant.

Launchpad stepped in to her rescue. "I dunno, Drake, this sounds like it could really work out! She really does seem to like Gos, an' I know her pretty well from the store... She's real..." He fumbled for a good word, and finished, "Reliable!" Beth beamed, and looked at her feet.

Drake hedged a little more, but even his reluctance seemed to be dwindling. "Well..."

Beth lifted her head up and tried one last shot. "I have references if you want them!" This was such a lie that she immediately kicked herself for it. She was trying to figure out if she could temporarily open up a couple of extra phone lines at her house when Gosalyn spoke again.

" _No_ way, Dad! I am not going for it!"

"Oh _really?_ " her father asked, turning towards her with an authoritative expression on his face (Beth found it incredibly cute). He crossed his arms. "You are aware that you have very little say in this matter, aren't you?"

She was standing on the couch cushions now. "I don't NEED a babysitter! You've said so yourself!"

"I've been known to make the occasional mistake, little missy! And when the mistake results in the pipes busting through the wall in the kitchen, I'm willing to admit I may have misjudged a situation!"

"It is NOT my fault you had cheap drywall put in!"

The argument had come on so suddenly, and was so vehement on both sides, that it took Beth a little by surprise. She raised her eyebrows and looked at Launchpad, who just shrugged a little wearily.

"That's enough, Gosalyn! My say is final, and I say you need a babysitter!" He turned suddenly to Beth, and said, "You really think you can handle this?"

"I..." A third lie sprang to Beth's mouth and took the plunge, this one the easiest and most natural of any of them. "I love a challenge! I think we'd have a great time."

"You're hired," Drake said, though the second half was nearly drowned out by the sound of Gosalyn's protests. The protests, in turn, could barely compare with the sound of Beth's thumping heart, as she smiled giddily. She jumped a little when a hand touched her shoulder; just for a moment, she'd forgotten Launchpad was there. She shot him a smile, then turned back to Drake Mallard.

"Great," she said shakily. "I, um, when should I...?"

"You can start tonight if you're free," Drake said, and held out his hand.

Beth nodded. "I'm free," she said; "I'm always free." This handshake was to be the biggest event in her life so far. She reached for his hand slowly - it was almost as if the further she reached, the slower her hand moved - and his fingertips were so close to hers that her breathing was quickening.

Everyone in the house jumped when the door slammed open, and Drake jerked his hand back just before she managed to take it; his attention was on the figure in the doorway, and after a moment of regret she followed his gaze.

Standing at the threshold was Megavolt, who looked right at her and said, "HERE you are!"


	7. Act III part 1

Silence filled the moment. When no one reacted, Megavolt took a few steps into the house, and carefully shut the door behind himself. "Well, that's better," he said as he turned back around. "Don't want to air-condition the whole neighbourhood, am I right?"

Still no one said anything, but there was some movement; Gosalyn shrank down slightly on the couch, and Launchpad stepped protectively in front of Beth. Beth herself put her hands to her mouth nervously and looked at Drake; to her surprise, Drake did not look scared. In fact, he looked oddly energized. She couldn't take her eyes off of him.

Stepping forward, Drake looked quite dramatic. "Megavolt," he said, emphasizing just the name with such certainty that it sounded like a sentence on its own.

Megavolt blinked at him, then his face lit up. "Drake? Drake _Mallard_?" He crossed the room and grabbed both of Drake's hands in his own, then shook them heartily. "It's Elmo! From high school!"

Drake looked taken aback, and for a moment, more than slightly nervous. The reaction had clearly not been what he'd expected; it sure hadn't been what Beth had expected, either. She wondered curiously what either of them _had_ been expecting, but ended up taking a step backwards and hiding behind Launchpad when Megavolt's enthusiasm took him closer to her.

"...Oh, heh heh, yeah, Elmo. Boy, uh, you sure look... good," said Drake.

Megavolt nodded. "Yeah, you know, I've been keeping busy." He looked around. "So this is your place? Wow, it looks _great_. You should see where I live, it's just clutter in every corner. So what have you been doing with yourself? What do you do these days?"

Drake, caught completely off-guard, opened and shut his mouth twice.

Apparently oblivious, Megavolt said, "Hey, wasn't the reunion a few months ago? Did you go?"

"I-"

"Wish I had," said Megavolt, shaking his head as he picked up a ceramic figure of a dancing pig and looked at it off-handedly. "You remember that guy Hamm? I've been wanting to catch up with _him_ for YEARS now." His expression darkened, then he shrugged and put the pig back down. "But, you know how it is, life just gets in the way. Although it's funny, now that I think about it I can't remember WHY I didn't make it..."

"Well, heh, you didn't miss much!" Drake said artificially. He took an odd little step towards Megavolt, inching in his direction a little; Megavolt seemed completely unaware, and stood where he was, holding a finger to his chin as he thought back to the reunion.

"Yeah... I wonder..."

Launchpad suggested, "Maybe you were paintin' your lighthouse that night!" Drake snapped his head around to glare at his friend after that comment. Beth had found the suggestion quite odd, but in her experience Launchpad seemed to be prone to saying slightly off-the-wall things from time to time.

Meanwhile, Megavolt gave Launchpad a searching look, and approached him as he looked him up and down. Launchpad, seeming increasingly nervous under such scrutiny, kept sending looks towards Drake. Finally Megavolt said, "Yeeaaaahhhh... You know, you look awfully familiar..." A split second later, however, his attention shifted as he noticed Beth cringing at Launchpad's side. "Hey! There you are! Get outta there already!"

She squeaked, and obliged him even though Launchpad seemed dedicated to trying to provide himself as a barrier. As she leaned around Launchpad's shoulder, she swallowed and said, "H-hi?"

"Where've you _been_ all night?"

Beth blinked, taken by surprise. "B-been? Um... asleep, mainly?"

"Well you ought to at least leave a note or something! Do you know what I had to go through to track you down?"

At her side, Drake turned to look at her. Beth met his gaze, and as soon as she did she knew what he was thinking. It was written clearly all over his face. She shook her head vehemently, trying to explain, but no words would come out.

"I _knew_ it!" he said in an angry hiss. "You and Megavolt are in cahoots!"

Horrified, Beth kept shaking her head; her spirits sank even further when Launchpad turned around and looked at her searchingly, apparently considering what Drake had just said. "I'm - I'm not! I swear, I promise, I don't know what he's _talking_ about!"

Megavolt continued, "I had a heck of a time even _finding_ your place! I had to go to about five places - that store you work at wasn't open yet, and when I tried the butcher's shop they didn't know, so I went to the grocery store and THEY didn't know, and neither did the pharmacy or the bank, but the _florist_..." After counting along with himself on his fingers, Megavolt looked up at her. "They knew. Then I had to go through all those notes you'd left out and try to piece together where you were, and..." He stopped, noticing the look Drake was still giving Beth, and looked annoyed. "You know, when someone is talking, it's considered _polite TO LISTEN!_ "

Beth snapped back to attention nervously, but Drake lifted a finger and pointed it towards Megavolt threateningly - then stopped, shot a glance back at Beth, and lowered his arm again, glaring at her all the while. In a tight voice, he said, "So sorry. _Do_ go on."

"THANK you. Now as I was saying..." After a pause, Megavolt scratched his head, then chuckled. "Well heck if I can't remember now! Funny how that works. Anyway, I don't want to intrude, so I'll just take my bolt and go put the finishing touches on my master plan for vengeance and total domination of the city. Nice seeing you again, Drake!"

"Your - your what?"

Megavolt blinked. "Which what? My plan or my bolt?"

Drake clenched his fist. "What do you mean your bolt?"

"Well, I _am_ the one who stole it fair and square! Then Miss Goody-Two-Shoes here comes along and picks it up from the gutter and walks off with it-"

Launchpad interrupted. "See, Drake? I knew she wasn't in cahoots with Megavolt!"

"Th-that's right!" said Beth, nodding vigorously and silently thanking Launchpad.

"Quiet!" snapped Drake. He turned back to Megavolt, then whirled back to Beth again, frowning. "You found this in the _gutter_?" he asked accusingly, opening his hand to indicate the double-plait bolt.

Beth blushed. "It was dry," she said by way of apology.

"Yoink!" said Megavolt, grabbing the bolt from Drake's open hand.

Spinning back around to face the supervillain, Drake said, " _Yoink_?"

"This is what I came for," Megavolt explained. "So, see ya!" He started for the door.

Drake couldn't restrain himself. He stepped forward quickly, blocking Megavolt's way, and said dramatically, "Not another step, you chieftain of cheap chicanery! You're not getting away with this!"

Megavolt looked surprised, and a split second later, annoyed. "What do you do," he asked, as a tiny spark flitted between the prongs of his helmet, "take diction lessons from that DUCK?"

"Not only that," Drake said confidently, "but I can have 'that DUCK' here in a flash if I so much as yelp!"

"Oh _really_!" Megavolt sounded interested, but looked furious. The flicker of a spark began to multiply. "I guess I'll just have to kill you quietly, then!"

From behind Launchpad, Beth gave a small shriek, and Drake remembered yet again that he couldn't take Megavolt out now. He ground his teeth together and thought, hard. One thing was certain: once the crisis at hand was resolved, he was revoking Launchpad's privilege to invite friends over.

He was just taking a step back when from the side of the room came a shout: "Hey, leave him alone, you overgrown sparkplug!"

"Gosalyn!" Drake shouted, panicked, as Megavolt's attention shifted dangerously to his daughter. He'd nearly forgotten she was there, since she'd been silent since Megavolt had entered; it was apparently too much to hope that she'd just keep her mouth shut and get away with being ignored. No one, it seemed, was allowed to ignore Gosalyn.

"What was that?" Megavolt asked threateningly, sparking in Gosalyn's general direction.

"I _said_ , leave my Dad alone, static-for-brains! Or else I'll... uh..." She trailed off as Megavolt crossed the room towards her and looked her up and down dangerously. "Heh heh... Gee, uh, I sure like your, uh, goggles..." She shrank down on the couch, but it was too late.

"Little girl, hasn't your daddy ever told you it's not nice to call people names?"

"Get away from her!" yelled Drake. Megavolt took no notice of him.

"W-well, I think I might remember hearing something like that... once or twice..." Gosalyn tried. Megavolt considered her, then shrugged and picked her up. "HEY!" She tried aiming a kick at him, but he had her around the waist; she was taken entirely by surprise. "Put me down, you high-voltage creep!"

Drake was halfway across the room already, but had to stop when Megavolt took out his zap gun and pointed it at Gosalyn's head. "Oh, that might not be a great idea, Drake," he said, and Drake slowed to a stop. "Now... what was it you were saying about getting Dripwing Duck in here to stop me?"

"You're not going to get away with this, Megavolt!" was Drake's only answer.

Megavolt chuckled. "Imitating him isn't going get you anywhere," he said, stopping and shifting his grip on Gosalyn, who was squirming around with all her strength. He sighed. "'Scuse me a minute. KNOCK IT OFF!" he yelled at her; she stopped, then started up double-time. "Oh, for crying... Okay, I'll make this quick, then. I'm taking the girl as a hostage. All you have to do to get her back is send a quick message to your best friend Dumbwing: come get her, _alone_ , tonight on top of the Duxter Building downtown. Let's say, oh, around eight-ish? Oh heck, make it eight-thirty. Sound good?"

"Let her GO, or-"

"Sound _good_?" Megavolt repeated, pressing the zap gun to Gosalyn's temple. She stopped her struggles for a moment, and her eyes met Drake's.

 _It's okay,_ she said silently. _I know you'll come when you can._

Drake let his arms fall to his sides. "...I'll tell him," he said softly.

"Great! And make sure he knows that this is NOT a time to be fashionably late. If he's so much as five minutes after 8 o'clock, the girl-"

"You said 8:30 before," said Launchpad.

"8:30? Did I? Huh, well, whichever."

"No, which was it? 8:00 or 8:30?" asked Gosalyn. "I mean, this _is_ kind of important."

"Hmm..." Megavolt gave it a moment's thought, then nodded to himself. "Fine, 8:30's probably better for me anyway. Okay! So much as five minutes past 8:30, and the girl will be nothing but a pile of ashes!" He backed out of the house, cackling, and kicked the door closed behind him. By the time Drake had flung the door open, Megavolt was well on his way down the block, with Gosalyn slung over one shoulder.

Drake stared down the street at the retreating figures, and said nothing. Behind him, Launchpad joined him and looked into the distance as well.

"Oh my gosh, he took your daughter!" said Beth, at his shoulder.

For a few moments he'd forgotten she was there; for one second, it felt like the whole thing had nearly been worth it just to mercifully forget about her. He turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon her, and she swallowed and took a step away from him.

"I - I mean... I know you know that, I just... was saying... I'm _so_ sorry." Drake was surprised that she wasn't yet bursting into flame under the heat of his hatred; instead she just seemed to keep talking. "I really had no idea... I- I just wanted to bring the bolt... I'm..."

"GET. OUT." In some corner of his mind, he was amazed that he'd managed to form two perfectly comprehensible words.

Beth practically leapt out onto the doorstep, and faced him beseechingly, her hands facing palm-out to him in an appeal. "I'm out, see? I'm out - and I really am sor-"

He didn't hear the rest, because the sound of the slamming door cut her off. He loved that slamming door; it was the greatest sound he'd ever heard.

"Ouch," said Launchpad quietly from behind him. Drake turned slowly to face him, and Launchpad took a step backwards himself. "Uh, I mean, what are you gonna do now, DW? You've still got almost twelve hours before you're supposed to meet him. Or eleven and a half, dependin' on which time you think he's gonna go by."

"I'm going to start planning," Drake said, and stalked towards the transport chairs. "I might not be able to do much, but maybe I can at least figure out what he needs those bolts for. C'mon. Let's get to work... someone still needs to repair my gas gun."


	8. Act III, part 2

Gosalyn found herself alone in a kind of storage closet, and so she set about trying to come up with an escape plan first thing. This wasn't hard, but it wasn't exactly easy, either.

The situation wasn't what she'd initially expected, after being abducted by a number of supervillains in the past, Megavolt himself included. He took the time to explain to her, en route to his hideout in the St. Canard lighthouse, that kidnapping hadn't been in his original plans for the day; and although he was happy enough to have her there, he really had a lot to work on and so she wasn't going to be a big priority for a while.

After that he'd just tossed her into the closet and locked her in. The closet was full of all kinds of hardware and weird gadgetry, and since Megavolt had picked up a few odd-looking objects on his way out, she gambled that he'd come back in for more supplies when he needed them. Her first plan was to pick up the heaviest-looking object in the room and wait for Megavolt to come back, then conk him on the head with it and make a break for it while he was stunned.

This didn't work out as planned, unfortunately. Although the object she picked was pretty heavy - it was tubular and long, with a few curvy smaller tubes coming out of its ends, and it felt almost as heavy as a bowling ball - Megavolt must have had a hard head or something. When she whacked him with it he yelled, "OW!"

She waited for him to fall over, but instead he rubbed his head and looked at her, annoyed. "That _hurt_! What were you _thinking_?" he asked, taking the... thing out of her hands. She was too surprised and scared to resist. Fortunately, however, the irritation in his eyes died away as he evidently recognized the object. "Oh, hey, I can use this!" he said, and walked absently back out the door, still rubbing his head.

Gosalyn counted to five and then tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. She opened it carefully, peeked outside, and came eye-to-eye with Megavolt. She smiled; he didn't. "Heh. Just wanted to make sure your head was okay!" she tried.

"Been better," he answered, then he pushed the door shut, and she heard the lock turn.

She didn't have any better ideas an hour later, when he came back to the closet. She jumped up when she heard the knob, and when he walked in and saw her he yelped and jumped. "Oh! Geez! I forgot you were in here! Give a guy a heart attack, why don't you?"

"Um... sorry?"

"Yeah, yeah. Seen the five-yard blastometer anywhere?" He seemed more distracted than usual. Gosalyn had no idea what a five-yard blaster-thingie was, but she pretended to help him look for about fifteen minutes as she inched her way towards the open door.

Megavolt caught on to her intention shortly before she was within bolting distance. He caught her hand. "Waaaait a minute. Do you even know what a five-yard blastometer IS?" he asked suspiciously, squeezing her wrist and squinting at her.

"It's a... specialized device to, to help... blast through... five yards?" When his gaze didn't waver, she added weakly, "Or fewer?"

"Hmm." He frowned. "Lucky guess. Y'know, I think we'll _both_ feel a little more secure if I make you more comfortable." His version of "comfortable" didn't mesh with Gosalyn's, since his next move was to tie her to a chair. It was, she acknowledged, a comfy chair; but the ropes sort of diminished any actual comfort that the cushions might have offered.

Then he turned out the lights.

Alone in the dark, tied to furniture, Gosalyn began to feel both downhearted and a little panicky.

Five minutes later, Megavolt opened the door, snapped the light on, and yelped again when he saw her. "MAN! I keep forgetting!"

By this time the whole thing was just getting silly, and Gosalyn rolled her eyes. "Look, I'm already tied up, and it seems like you kinda need to get in here a lot. Why don't you just put me someplace outside?"

Megavolt considered this. "Well... I could use a little feedback, now that you mention it. But if you try anything at all..." He put his finger to his head like a gun, and made a buzzing sound.

The inside of Megavolt's lighthouse was an odd combination of workshop, living space, and junk house. There was no clear delineation of which was which, either; it all just seemed to blend together without any precise plan. The project that Megavolt had been working on was in the top story of the lighthouse, taking up a lot of space. So far it looked like a big metal tower - or at least, it seemed that this was what it would be when it was finished. At this point it was a kind of steeple with some tubular fluorscent lights looping all around it. Across the room was what looked to be a base, waiting for the half-finished steeple to be attached to it.

"Kind of low on space in here," Megavolt said, at her shoulder, "but since Dripwing Duck is probably going to be scouring the city for us, I can't work on it outside the way I'd like to."

"Of course," Gosalyn humoured him.

Once he'd made sure that she was secure and not about to escape again, he got back to work; the contraption was close to being finished, and he didn't waste any time explaining to her just what it was. Familiar as she was with the patterns of most supervillains, Gosalyn figured that he would fit that business in later, so she didn't bother asking yet, and instead she tried to come up with various ways to escape before the deadline that evening.

Megavolt, on the other hand, was in a chatty mood. He went on about how this design needed a special kind of bolt, how long it had taken him to find it, how the toaster had advised him against it but the toaster didn't know anything about electrical engineering, on and on. Gosalyn was sure this was the same kind of bolt he'd tracked down to her house.

It was funny that those particular bolts were so important. Maybe, if she spoke really carefully, she could get some kind of information on them could help her father later. "So," she said, picking her words, "there's no replacement for that kind of bolt, huh?"

"Pfft," he said, directing it over his shoulder at her, "I went over all this yesterday. Nope, nothing else covers it."

"And if you hadn't found that last bolt... what, would you have had to scrap the whole thing?"

"OH, yeah," he answered distractedly, tightening parts of the tower with a wrench.

Gosalyn tried not to sound excited as she went on. Better not to assume anything, since Megavolt had a way of being unpredictable. "But if you were only missing one, couldn't you have just made it a little smaller? What's so special about the number of bolts you had?"

At this, Megavolt chuckled and answered, "Noooo, you've got it all wrong! The bolts aren't holding it together - they're pretty much useless for that kind of thing! Only some kind of idiot would use a double-plait bolt to keep a machine intact!"

"Oooh-kaaay... Then-"

"The alloy they're made of is a perfect superconductor!" he said gleefully. "See, the bolts go in, in a precise conglomeration, and then we switch this sweet baby on and power 'er up, and BAM!"

"...Bam?"

"Yeah, you know! BAM!" He laughed again, this time more of a cackle than a chuckle. Patting the tower proudly, he said, "What we have here is the biggest, baddest battery St. Canard has ever seen! She draws energy right out of the air and stores it up to power... well, whatever I want!" He turned to Gosalyn, and grinned wickedly. "Which, in this case, is... me!"

"And- and then what?"

"Then," he continued obligingly, "I'll have the power source I need to unite the people of St. Canard in harmony... and _terror_!" He burst out laughing at this, increasing in volume as he went, and Gosalyn felt a chill go down her back. Once the laughter died down, he sighed and shook his head as if over a private joke, then said, "Well, that was fun, but I better finish this up now."

Gosalyn thought, trying to figure out if there was a way to apply the information she'd acquired. If she could get her hands free, maybe she could snag one of the bolts and mysteriously "lose" it while Megavolt's back was turned... Or maybe she could stall him longer and keep him from finishing it on time? Or... or, what? All of these ideas were contingent on a lot of "ifs" and "maybes". It seemed pretty clear that once Megavolt got the battery going, assuming it worked properly - and nuts or not, most of Megavolt's inventions generally worked the way he intended them to - Darkwing was in for a tough fight.

"Let me just... get the last one in there..." Megavolt grunted to himself for a moment, then gave a satisfied "a-ha!" and stepped back, gesturing at the front of the mini-tower. "Ta-da!" Gosalyn found that the bolts were arranged in a clear pattern.

She blinked, not certain she was seeing it right.

Megavolt gestured again, impatiently. "See? It's a butterfly!"

It was, indeed, a large and ornate butterfly very clearly spelled out by the bolts. Gosalyn stared for a moment longer, then said, "...Pretty."

"Well, no point in stifling your creativity, am I right?" Megavolt took a step back and admired his handiwork, then looked up to take in the rest of the structure. He was silent for a few moments, then said, "Y'know, I have _no_ idea how we're going to carry all this stuff."

* * *

"But what if you need back-up?"

Darkwing, adjusting his helmet as he climbed atop the Ratcatcher, shrugged. "Don't be ridiculous. I've faced Megavolt more times than Herb Muddlefoot can count." Once the chin strap was set, he added, "Besides, he was pretty clear on my coming alone. I'm not going to risk Gosalyn by bringing someone else along."

Launchpad looked dismayed. "But... He's probably not gonna play fair!"

"Those were the terms of the deal, Launchpad," Darkwing said seriously.

"At least lemme fly ya there! I mean... What if you... hit traffic or somethin'? If you're late-"

"I'm not planning on taking the highway, here!" Darkwing revved the engine, then killed it when he saw Launchpad's expression. "Look, LP. I know this is hard for you. But Gos will be fine. I won't let that nutcase do anything to her... _Trust me._ "

Petulantly, Launchpad said, "But how'm I gonna know how it goes?"

The engine started back up with a roar, and Darkwing made for the exit onto the bridge top. Over his shoulder, he shouted, "Read about it in tomorrow's paper! Page one!"

* * *

The clock's minute hand clicked up to twelve, and the chime of the hour was heard. "Well, that's it! 8 pm! So where is he?" Megavolt asked irritably, looking around in the dim light.

From her chair, Gosalyn said, "You said eight-thirty!"

"Did I? That doesn't sound like me..." He puzzled over that, then said, "Unless I said eight-thirty and _meant_ eight o'clock, so that I could zap you early and still fight that masked menace. Now _that_ sounds like me!"

Gosalyn swallowed hard. "...Does it?"

"Yeah, I pretty much think it does," said Megavolt with a chuckle. He took one more quick look around, then aimed his zap gun at her. "Gee, too bad Darkwing Duck didn't care enough to get here on time..." Gosalyn squeezed her eyes shut, but the next thing she heard was the muffled thud of a collision, an abrupt "Oof!", and a clatter. When she looked, Megavolt's gun was on the ground, and the supervillain himself was rubbing his hand and looking reproachfully at the new arrival who had disarmed him.

"Darkwing," he said spitefully. "You're early."

"Looks that way," said Darkwing, in much the same tone.

There was a tense silence, as Megavolt slowly recovered his gun, and sheathed it. Then he said, "Well, then, shall we get down to business?"

Darkwing stepped towards Gosalyn, and said, "First you let her go. I held up the deal."

Megavolt had regained some of his equilibrium, and at this he cocked his head and smiled nastily. "Let her go? Now I'm _sure_ I never said I'd do _that_! I just said I wouldn't kill her out right!"

Clenching his fists, Darkwing took a step forward. "That's a deal-breaker, Sparky!"

The gun came out again. "Call me that again and I'll forget I promised anything at all!" Megavolt threatened, levelling the weapon at Gosalyn.

"H-hey, guys? Uh, how about everyone just takes a few deep breaths and talks this one out, huh?" Gosalyn put in.

Megavolt didn't look convinced, but Darkwing put his hands up in a conciliatory gesture and said, "Okay, then. Just tell me what it is you want, Megavolt."

Smirking, Megavolt answered, "That's more like it. I would like, if I may, to introduce you to my latest invention!" He made a grand sweep and indicated the tower, gleaming behind him in the city's evening lights. "Isn't she beautiful? I dreamed her, but life wanted to stand in our way and keep her from becoming a reality!"

"Fantastic," Darkwing muttered with a snort. "Nothing like cold machinery in the evening to bring a tear to your eye."

"I know, I know!" Megavolt nodded wistfully, wiping at his own eye. His demeanor shifted quickly. "And since _you_ were one of the many factors standing in my way, I thought it was only fair that you make it up to me by helping me with a test run!"

Darkwing threw a glance at Gosalyn, who was staring at him wide-eyed, then turned back to Megavolt with his eyes narrowed. "And just what exactly is that thing there supposed to do?" In his peripheral vision, he saw Gosalyn roll her eyes and sigh in exasperation.

"Aha, I was waiting for you to ask!" Megavolt took a few steps backwards, towards his contraption, flipped a switch, and slapped his hand on the base of the tower. There was a low hum that began to build in intensity and frequency; there was a glow that began to accompany it. Without warning, sparks flew from the surrounding buildings, drawn towards the apparatus; as the electricity was sucked into the tower, the buildings all went dark. For a few moments, the tower dimmed as well, and the only light was a quiet pulsing at the very tip of the machine. Then there was a loud electrical popping noise, and Megavolt's right hand - the one not resting on the tower - was ablaze with bright green light.

"It does _this,_ " said Megavolt. He spread his fingers and aimed his hand, palm out, at the billboard that adorned the rooftop next to the Duxter Building. A ball of electricity shot from his hand and smashed through the billboard, toppling it; it kept going, taking down a few other high-rising features of the area before dissipating.

Darkwing felt a chill go through him. That was vastly more powerful than Megavolt's usual zaps.

"WOO! IT WORKS!" Megavolt had taken his hand from the contraption to cheer, and now he turned back around and gave it a big hug. "You little devil, you!" he said.

"Dad!" Gosalyn hissed, while the supervillain's attention was elsewhere.

"Not now Gos! I can't take the time to-"

"NO, this is major! The bolts on the-"

Megavolt spun back around, grinning wildly. "Wanna see it again?"

"Uh-" Darkwing paused, and that was almost the end of him. The electric charge was delivered even more quickly this time, and it was only luck that he managed to dart out of the way in time. Another volley of lightning followed immediately; at this rate he'd have to get out of Megavolt's sight in order to be safe. Behind him, Megavolt was loudly cheering himself.

He'd have to think on his feet. Stay as far from Gosalyn as possible, don't stop moving, find a place to block himself from Megavolt's view - and most of all, get that lunatic _away_ from that weapon of his, since it seemed like he had to be touching it to get it to work. Darkwing threw himself behind the raised entrance to the stairwell and didn't stop moving; an arc of lightning came directly from above him and scorched the place he'd been in a moment before. He thanked whoever was looking out for him that he hadn't paused to catch his breath, and instead swung himself up onto the side of the roof, still out of Megavolt's sight but in a place the villain wasn't likely to expect him to be.

Megavolt stopped, looking around carefully. "Hey, where'd you go?" he asked, sounding mildly irritated. "Huh... no fair cheating! Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

Darkwing sighed and caught his breath. Maybe he could get in a good shot with his gas- nope, it was still busted, wasn't it. Stupid, stupid bolts! He wished he'd thought to bring a water balloon - _that_ would take Megavolt down for a few moments at least...

Behind him, Megavolt began to whine. "Aw, c'mon, no hiding! You big coward!" Met again with silence, he said, "Fine, I guess I'll just have to... incinerate _everything!_ " With a loud laugh, he raised his hands and lightning spread across the whole roof.

Gosalyn yelped and ducked, as much as she could while tied to a chair. The electricity missed her but singed one of the cushy arms of her seat, and left a big scorch mark on the pavement at her feet.

Pulled out of his planning quite suddenly, Darkwing scrambled into action after a bolt hit right between his knees. He took a breath, counted to three, and leapt over the side of the roof and onto Megavolt.

"YEOW!" his enemy screeched, and he lost contact with the tower. The lightning died down instantly and a moment later, most of the surrounding lights came back on. "YOU! I'm gonna _get_ you for that!"

Darkwing did his best to keep the upper hand, and pushed against the ground to get them rolling further from the weapon. "Not a lot you can do if you aren't touching that thing, is there?"

"I'll take care of that in version 2!" Megavolt snapped, grabbing Darkwing by his lapels and tossing him. "After I've taken care of **you**!"

"It looks like it's about to fall apart any second anyway! Not your best work, Megs!" Darkwing got to his feet and scrambled a little further away from the tower in the hopes that Megavolt would follow him.

"Take that back! She's a work of art!" Megavolt yelled, sufficiently annoyed to come after Darkwing with his hands instead of recalling his precious tower.

Meanwhile, Gosalyn yanked at her bonds, but Megavolt had duct taped her to the chair and the loops around her wrists were just not about to give. She _had_ to get one of those bolts out somehow! Or at least... "Darkwing!" she tried, but he wasn't listening. She took a deep breath and tried again. "DARKWING!"

He shot her a look and called, "WHAAAT?"

She recognized the tone as his "Not-the-right-moment-Gos" tone, but she knew it was important, so she went on. "The bolts! You've got to-"

Darkwing shook his head. "What bolts?"

"On the side! The _butterfly_!"

He took a look, but as he did so Megavolt shoved a hand into Darkwing's face and pushed him over. "WAHA! Who's the big man _now_?" he cried, and turned to get back to the tower. Darkwing grabbed his ankle, and he fell, too.

"Okay - the butterfly - what about it?" Darkwing called. He was wrapping both arms around Megavolt's legs, as Megavolt tried crawling across the roof towards the tower.

"The bolts are the conductors! The tower can't work without them! If you can get them-"

Megavolt propped himself up on his arms and glared at her. "HEY! Shut **up**! Why did I tell you all that stuff, anyway?"

"I always figured it was some kind of compulsion you supervillains have that was just convenient for guys like me," Darkwing answered him. Megavolt grimaced and shocked him; the effect was minor in comparison to what he'd been doing using the tower, but it was effective, as Darkwing instinctively let him go.

Megavolt was up in a minute, dashing towards the tower. Darkwing shot to his feet as quickly as he could, following a few paces behind, but was still out of reach when the surrounding buildings went dark as the power was sucked into Megavolt's invention again. In a minute there would be another volley of electric zaps, and Darkwing was pretty sure he couldn't outrun it this time.

 _Okay - think. Weak spots. What's this thing's weak spot? Megavolt has to be touching it to use it. Already knew that - not going to help._ Darkwing looked about in the darkness even as it began to lessen, while the tower began to glow and hum. He had really only one other option, at least for the moment, so he took it.

Diving forward, he threw himself onto the base of the tower and clung to it for dear life.

Now illuminated by the power charge, Megavolt looked around the rooftop for his foe, and finally noticed Darkwing wrapped around the base of the tower near Megavolt's feet. "Groveling already? And I didn't even have to ask!" he said, and laughed. He stopped once he noticed that Darkwing was sliding a hand along the base towards the butterfly design. "Oh no you don't! Another inch and you're a crispy critter!"

"Ha!" spat Darkwing, grinning smugly. "Nice bluff, Sparky, but you wouldn't dare zap me while I'm this close to your little toy! You'd fry your own power source!"

With a scoff, Megavolt said, "You think so, huh?" He snapped his fingers, and the tower crackled with electricity.

Darkwing felt like he was buzzing, and the next thing he knew, he was on the ground and his suit was smoking slightly. "Gah... That was... not what I had... in mind."

"What'd you think it was gonna do? Melt?" Megavolt sounded genuinely puzzled. "Oh well! Any last words, Dripwing?"

"Actually..." With no more idea in mind beyond stalling, Darkwing cast about for an idea that would at least take up some time. And then he saw the beauty of cheap, poorly designed hardware, as his eyes fell upon a a double-plait bolt that had been knocked slightly loose from the activity, one within his reach, one that could tip all the scales in his favour. He looked back at Megavolt. "There is **one** thing I've always wanted to know."

"Oh? Do tell!"

Okay... now he just had to think of something. "Well," he said, winging it, "you probably don't remember this," he went on, and edged his hand slowly towards the loose bolt, "but waaaay back when we first met..."

Megavolt nodded seriously. "Ah yes, I remember it well... a Saturday afternoon at the zoo, wasn't it?"

"Uh... suuuuure." As long as it kept the deranged rodent distracted, Darkwing didn't care _what_ either of them said. "Aaaanyway, I always wondered -"

"You want to know about the deLorean!" Megavolt said suddenly.

"You got it," answered Darkwing, groping for the bolt without turning.

"That was a weather experiment," Megavolt said, as if this explained everything. "You know, Darkwing, you surprise me. I didn't think you'd remember that! Ahh, we have had some good times, haven't we..." Megavolt shook his head fondly, lost in thought for a half a second, then clenched his fist. "Oh well! Now _say your prayers_!"

The finish of the machine was still smooth under Darkwing's fingertips, and for a moment he felt panicked. Then Gosalyn's voice rang out.

"Hang on! You're not going to just kill him, are you? I mean, what about your speech?"

Megavolt turned towards her. "My what?"

"Your speech! You said you had a whole speech planned, and it was going to be really... really dynamic!" She was obviously grasping for ideas, but Darkwing blessed his daughter silently and kept probing with his fingers for the bolt. A second later they grazed it, a bumpy edge sticking out of the smooth surface at an odd angle. He tugged at it, encircled it, trying to find purchase to pull it out.

Meanwhile, Megavolt was scratching his head. "A speech? Did I bring notes?"

"Check your left pocket," Gosalyn suggested helpfully.

Darkwing risked a look at the bolt while Megavolt was distracted. It _looked_ like it could just be pulled out, but it didn't feel that way. He momentarily considered using his teeth. Behind him, Megavolt was beginning to sound frustrated, and Gosalyn was encouraging him to check the _other_ pocket. Darkwing poked at the bolt and felt it shift a little when he pushed at a certain angle.

"You know, I don't care if I had a ten-page speech written up," Megavolt said angrily, "I've had enough of all this! Nothing is going to be more fun than finally taking out my lifelong enemy!"

"But -"

"But nothing!" He turned back to face Darkwing. "Darkwing, old buddy, there is one thing I'm going to regret for the rest of my life - and that's that I'll only get to do this _once_!" He lifted his fist into the air, and a ball of lightning formed around it at once. Darkwing gave a great tug on the loose bolt, and it came free, slipping through his fingers to clink onto the concrete of the rooftop.

The lightning dissipated instantly, and for a split second all was dark. The machine's hum fell silent. Then, in an expanding outward arc, the lights came back on in all the neighbouring buildings.

Megavolt looked around in horror. "Hey! Cheater!"

"Huh?" asked Darkwing, blinking a little in the newly-returned light.

"Breaking my stuff so you can win is _cheating!_ " Megavolt informed him, and he reached back and brought out his zap gun again. "Well, at least I can take care of you the old-fashioned way!"

"That old thing?" Darkwing taunted. "Sure, that'll work if you're trying to pop some popcorn!" In fact, he'd forgotten Megavolt still had that gun, but he had a reputation to maintain. He ducked the first blast, then kicked upwards as hard as he could. The kick hit home (and sort of hurt), disarming Megavolt in one shot.

The zap gun skidded off to one side of the roof; the escaped bolt lay off towards the other. Megavolt and Darkwing both stared at each object for a moment or two, then at each other, and then each one made a move in opposite directions.

Darkwing reached the bolt, tore his gas gun out from his cape, and fumbled to push the bolt into the spot that awaited it. After nearly dropping it twice, it seemed to be all the way in; that would be the best he could manage, he figured. He whirled around and came face-to-face with Megavolt acting almost as his sinister reflection; they both aimed their respective weapons, and as Darkwing squeezed the gas gun's trigger, he closed his eyes and braced himself for an onslaught of electricity.

It didn't come. The gas gun deployed properly for the first time in days, and although he never found out exactly what kind of gas it was, that didn't matter; the canister flew out of the barrel as it was emptying and smacked Megavolt in the head, knocking him out. The hollow *crack* of the canister hitting the rooftop was almost inaudible over the heavier thud of the superhero falling in a heap.

It took Darkwing a moment or so to realize that Megavolt was actually down for good. He stood and stared for a few counts, before breathing a sigh of relief and letting himself relax. "Gos! You okay?"

"Uh-huh," she called back, pulling at her restraints, "but I hate duct tape! This stuff won't budge!" She wiggled her fingers at him desperately.

"I'll get you out in just a sec, sweetie," he assured her, looking over his gas gun to be sure the bolt was in there properly. It didn't look quite secure - he'd definitely need to use some tools on it when he got back to the Tower - but for now it probably wasn't going anywhere. He handcuffed Megavolt, then put the gun away and went to free his daughter.

After the requisite hug, Gosalyn massaged her wrists where the duct tape had been, and looked down over the side of the roof. "Hey, Dad - don't look now, but I think there's a camera crew down there."

"Oh yeah? Really?" He left his examination of Megavolt's butterfly pattern behind for a moment to stand dramatically at the roof's edge, a hand heroically patting Gosalyn on the head. She took it for about two seconds before swatting his arm away, so he swooped his cape across his chest and over his face, and stepped away from the edge again. "There, that oughta make the news, huh?"

Gosalyn rolled her eyes. "You mean you're not going to make a play for an interview special with Baba Wawa tonight?"

"Don't be silly," Darkwing said, stepping back to the makeshift tower. He found the "off" switch and flipped it, even though the machine was no longer operational. "Baba only does interviews that she schedules herself, and she's got my card. She'll call when she's ready."

"Well, they do look pretty excited down there," Gosalyn noted, peering over the edge again. "I think Channel 12 is down there, and - DAD!"

"What?" Darkwing looked up from the pile of bolts he was collecting. "I'm just making sure this collection of scrap metal can't do any more harm!"

"You're sure you're not going to take those home with you?"

"Well, I..." Darkwing trailed off as Gosalyn raised an eyebrow. He sniffed defensively. "I need these more than Megavolt did!"

"But that's dishonest! Weren't those stolen in the first place?"

"Not by me!"

"Da-ad..."

He sighed. "Oh, fine." Dumping the bolts back into a little pile, he muttered, "Like they're going to miss a few ten-cent bolts."

Gosalyn took his hand and dragged him toward the fire escape. "Can we go? I'm starving. I haven't eaten anything since breakfast."

"Sure," he answered, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and enveloping her in his cape. "Dinner it is. I'll take the rest of the night off."

She snuck another look down at the crowd below. "You sure you don't want to give a soundbite or something, Dad? This looks pretty big."

Darkwing smiled at her. "Right now there's only one person I feel like talking to," he said, "and I think I'm going to take her out for hamburgers."

When the police reached the rooftop a few minutes later they found a still-unconscious Megavolt ready for jail, and they completely ignored the pile of shining, oddly-shaped bolts that lay nearby. The bolts were scattered in the ensuing activity, and more than a few of them fell between cracks and crevices in the roof top, where they stayed for years. As for the rest, who knows? That's a story for another day.

 **END.**

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED in "Sea of Green"!

Copyright Zebeckras, 1995; 2000-2009. Beth Webfoot and Henny Chickstein created by me, and all other characters are owned by Disney and are used without permission; that's why I'm nice to 'em. :) This story may be duplicated as long as it is not sold or altered in any form. You may not make money off of this story. (How could you, anyway?) You may not let your dog chew on this story... at least, if you do, I'll be very sad and I'll cry. :(


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